I Love My Love
by justadram
Summary: "Little maid, pretty maid, whither goest thou?" Alice has forgotten her friends in Underland, until one day she follows the figures she sees in the looking glass. Alice/Hatter; later chapters rated M.
1. Chapter 1

Summary: Alice has forgotten her friends in Underland until one day she follows the figures she sees in the looking glass.

Rating: NC-17/M (quite innocent until later chapters)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction and the author receives no profit from the work

**Gaelig Day**

Alice squinted at the looking glass. Perhaps her eyes were less than perfect. She was, after all, twenty-two: a fact that her mother was rather fond of repeating.

_You are twenty-two, Alice._

Alice parroted back the familiar phrase, looking beyond her reflection at the miniature creatures she saw shimmering somewhere at the edge of the looking glass.

You've made your fortune, Alice. You've travelled the world, Alice. You've turned down a half dozen suitors that were willing to put up with your peculiarities, Alice; supposing, of course, that you would put those troubling peculiarities aside, Alice.

But what _was_ that there in the glass?

She peered at the glass, leaning within a couple of inches of its surface. The diminutive creatures were a little larger at this distance and their animations more evident. They seemed to be sitting around a table, but she could not tell what it was they were doing with such gusto. Glancing backwards over her shoulder, she checked to see if a remnant of her childhood might be lurking in the corner somewhere and reflecting in the glass: a child's table and toys, perhaps. But alas, nothing lurked in the corner but the dress form.

She frowned down at her own dress. It had not yet been a month, but she was already missing the liberty in dressing that she could take when she was travelling beyond her mother's ever present gaze here in London. Dreadful stockings and corsets and hairpins and high button boots. Dreadful everything. Her home would be the Austro-Prussian War, if she did not sometimes concede to her mother's wishes about dress. Better to concede on dress than the truly important things, she reasoned. Age had not broken her independence, but it had warmed her to the notion of compromise. A rather adult development, she congratulated herself.

I will not marry, Mother. But I shall wear stockings. Sometimes.

She frowned: the creatures were still there, hands waving in the air. She leaned just a bit further, her hands rising up in a pale imitation of the actions of the shimmering creatures through the looking glass. Her nose was almost touching the glass. She was overcome by the sensation that it might be possible to walk right through it, so that she might get a better view of these intriguing creatures.

Would it be terribly selfish to smudge the glass by pressing her fingertips to it, so that she might test her theory? She was not the one who did the cleaning, after all. Out of thoughtfulness for others she might take some care. And yet, she felt herself pressing into the glass, although the glass did not feel like it should: like water perhaps or ephemeral coolness to the touch, but nothing solid.

Wicked, girl, she thought to herself, you have leaned on the looking glass and made it go all mush. A mushy mirror: she had never heard of such a thing. And floors gone green; and ceilings gone blue; and walls gone wide.

Alice twirled around, hearing birds and voices. Her room had disappeared.

Her heart began to race as it had not done since she was last standing on the bow of the ship during a particularly dastardly storm, which had left her feeling delightfully and dangerously alive. Alive, Alice, she had whispered to herself on the ship. "Alive, Alice," she repeated to the flowers and trees that surrounded her now in a cacophony of colors.

"Alice, alive," something sang back to her.

Placing her hands on her nipped in waist, she turned to her left and right. Nothing but daisies were smiling up at her, but they were smiling, and that made her curious.

"Did you just speak to me?" she questioned the flowers at her feet.

"Alice has lost some of her sense," an upturned face replied.

"But she is the right color, and that is something at least," another argued.

Alice knew that this should surprise her, but somehow, it seemed right—resplendently right—that these lovely daises should honor her with their conversation.

"Her petals curl even less than before," a rose bemoaned.

"What's wrong with my petals?" Alice asked, peevishly petting her upswept hair. Honey caught more flies than vinegar, she remembered, even though these delicate flowers were not obnoxious gnats. "You are the most charming garden of flowers I have ever seen. For, I have never been spoken to by flowers before."

"We have talked to you before, Alice: many times," a chorus of daisies insisted.

A thought formed in the crease between her brows and Alice worried it for a moment. It seemed she had forgotten something. It was all so new and yet all so familiar.

The voices came floating back to her once more and she remembered why she had pressed her naughty fingertips to the looking glass: she wanted to see the creatures at the table at play, and so she turned and twisted through the garden path, seeking them out and humming to herself.

"With silver bells and cockle shells…" she intoned, gripping her skirts in her hands so they did not drag so in the dewy grass. [1]

The voices grew louder as she rounded the bend and finally the table of creatures came into view framed by a large windmill. But they were not creatures all: a March hare, a dormouse, and a man—a hatter. Alice did not know how she knew he was a hatter, but she knew that he was, just as she knew today was Wednesday. Or Thursday, perhaps.

"Alice!" the hatter exclaimed, climbing atop the table and running along the length of the three tables together knocking over mismatched cups and saucers and sending a cake plate of tea cakes flying.

He leaned down over the edge of the table and extended his be-thimbled hand to her. She tilted her head, feeling the thought wiggle more insistently behind her brows, demanding to be heard. Her mouth may have opened in a tiny 'o' for all the thinking she was doing and it may have made the hatter sad, for he began to frown and his eyes shifted slightly in color.

"Ye'r _late_!" the March hare shouted, pulling his ears down to his chin and trembling.

"I'm very sorry," she apologized. "If I would have known, I would have chanced making marks on the looking glass much earlier."

"You used to come at ten o'clock and now you come at noon," the hatter said, his frown growing more pronounced.

"Dilly-dally!" the dormouse said accusingly. [2]

"Ye huv forgotten," the hatter said, slipping into a brogue that matched the March hare's.

"Have I?" Alice asked. She was very sorry if that was the case. She tried very hard to be mindful.

"'n' ye wull nae tak' mah haun, lassie," he said, extending his hand out half a foot further to emphasize his point.

This point nearly cost him his footing as he teetered at the edge, and the point was clearly making him so cheerless that Alice rethought her trip through the looking glass. These happy little creatures were happier without her. She had spoilt their tea party.

"Forgive me, sir. I will happily take your hand," she said with a smile. Business and pleasure is conducted with the shaking of hands, she thought with a nod as she took his larger hand in hers.

At the touch of his hand, Alice suddenly felt the world begin to brighten about her, as if a lamp had just been lit for her personal enlightenment.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "The Queen of Hearts, she made some tarts, all on a summer's day." [3]

"She did quite a bit more than that, Alice," the Hatter reminded her, lowering his voice to a quiet lisp. "Bluddy Behg Hid."

Alice nodded, squeezing his hand. "And you were all there!"

Hatter's frown was reversed into a beatific smile that threatened the corners of his eyes, which glowed a pleasant green. Still having her hand in his, the Hatter attempted to haul Alice up onto the table with him, but Alice wobbled, encumbered by her heavy skirts, tight sleeves, high necked collar, and constricting corset.

The Dormouse shook her head, "She has lost her muchness again."

"I have not," Alice insisted, scrambling up first on one knee and then the other before being pulled upright by the Hatter.

Her heeled boots fought for purchase on the heavily laden and uneven table, and seeing her struggle, the Hatter grabbed her elbows to steady her.

"You have a case of the Wiggles and Waggles, Alice."

"It would seem that I have."

"Never mind. What matters is that you are Right Sized Alice. Proper Perfect Pleasantly Sized Alice," he assured her, moving into her personal space.

Alice was not given to blushing, but she thought the tips of her ears might have turned a bit pink at his compliment—a compliment she was not used to receiving, but which pleased her all the same.

"But, you are late, you know: Thackery is right. _Naughty_," he said, raising one brow saucily.

Turning on his heel, he began to pull her by the hand across the tables towards the tall seat that he had abandoned in his initial enthusiastic greeting. In the process of the short journey, her lengthy skirts were dragged through all manner of wet and muddle. This unfortunate accident was brought to the Hatter's attention when he climbed down into his chair and spun to face Alice, who was still perched above him on the table. The stained hems of her many layered skirts hung limply amid the wreck of the table.

"We have made a mess," he said with a nervous giggle.

"It is my skirts: they're too too," she said. She peered over her shoulder: the train was in the most horrid condition.

"We shall have to sort you out," Hatter asserted, lifting his arms to grip her waist and lower her to the ground beside him.

She was caught momentarily off-guard by his actions and she held her breath as his hands held her tightly and she slid almost down his chest. While she was acutely aware that this was most definitely not Otherland, she was also aware that this would not be proper in Otherland—a fact she could not easily shelve. That must have been why her stomach hitched, she reasoned.

"Humph!" the Dormouse groused before throwing a cracked tea cup at the pair.

The Hatter ducked, and the cup went sailing over his head. Seemingly inspired by the Dormouse, Thackery followed suit and tossed a crumpet into the air, which landed harmlessly with a plop in an open teapot.

Alice took a step back from the Hatter, regaining her composure.

"Are you in there, Alice?" Hatter asked, softly lisping, as he looked down his nose at her.

She followed his gaze and reasoned that he must mean her voluminous dress, which was rather different from what he was accustomed to seeing her in.

"Beneath the corset and bustle and hairpins, yes," she answered in the affirmative.

Alice thought she saw a novel shade of brilliant blue float across his eyes, but she could not guess the meaning of this change.

"It is not as easy to make a new dress for Right Sized Alice," he said with a sigh. "I haven't a bolt big enough. Not with me, here at the Hare House. I want to put things to right, however, given that I caused the kerfuffle. So, if you would allow me: through the woods and around the bend, if we wend, at the Hat House we could spend…"

"Hatter," she said, reaching up a hand to touch his cheek.

"Thank, you, Alice. I'm fine," he said with a swallow.

"It does not matter, although these skirts may interfere somewhat with my muchness. I shall muster through, I expect," she said, gamely brushing herself off.

"Mallymkun did not mean it: about your muchness," Hatter apologized. "Althoogh, ye huv changed."

"But, I am not the only one who looks different," Alice observed.

"We are all the Correct Size," Mallymkun assured her, knowingly.

"Yes, but you look different. Better."

"Humph! We have always looked fine, thank you, the Alice," Mallymkun sniffed.

"Perhaps you cannot see it for yourselves," Alice pondered. "But, you are all much brighter. Much muchier."

The Hatter brushed at his waistcoat, which Alice had noted was a bright new blue. His bow tie, coat, pants, stockings, and shoes all appeared to be new as well. Yet, this was not what she had meant by her observation. The colors of Underland seemed to be freshly painted, tinting the sky, grass, and everything around her a happier shade. The fur of her friends seemed fluffier. Hatter's hair appeared to be softer and more ginger than orange; the skin about his eyes less obviously tinged with tangerine and violet; his hands somewhat less stained and besmirched; his cheeks less magenta; and his skin less shockingly white and more unmarred marble.

"It is the White Queen," Hatter explained. "Everything is nicer with the White Queen ruling," he lisped happily.

Yes, that seemed right, Alice thought. This is what the Hatter must have looked like Before: before his clan was destroyed by the Jabberwocky and before Iracebeth ruined everything. Before Horunvendush Day drove Hatter madder than mad.

"Time for tea!" the Hatter cried, turning back towards the spoiled table.

"Time?" Thackery bemoaned, tugging on his ears. "Dinnae gang dragging him intae it," he pleaded.

"You've only just made friends, again," Mallymkun said, agreeing with Thackery.

"Have you made friends with Time again, Hatter?" Alice asked with some pleasure. She would like to know that Hatter was better off than when she had last left him.

"There is only one way to tell," Hatter said, contemplatively.

"Yes?" she prodded.

"Have you come to stay?" he asked hesitantly.

"I…I haven't much thought about it."

Thackery giggled and hiccupped, "She hasn't a thought in her heid!"

"Alice," the Hatter said, gripping her shoulders with sudden frantic energy.

"Yes, Hatter?"

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

It was a riddle, as it had always been, but just now it seemed like a very important riddle—not the kind of riddle to be trifled with. She knew just how to answer.

"I don't know. Why _is_ a raven like a writing desk?"

He smiled quite brightly once more, "I haven't the slightest idea."

* * *

[1] "Mary, Mary, quite contrary,

How does your garden grow?

With silver bells, and cockle shells,

And pretty maids all in a row."

The oldest known version was first published in _Tommy Thumb's Pretty Song Book_ (c. 1744)

[2] "A diller, a dollar, a ten o'clock scholar!

What makes you come so soon?

You used to come at ten o'clock;

Now you come at noon."

The word 'diller' is a Yorkshire term for a boy who is dim-witted and stupid so this rhyme is a moral about the importance of punctuality. _The Oxford Dictionary of Nursery Rhymes_ suggests that 'a diller, a dollar' are related to the words dilatory and dullard or that maybe 'a diller, a dollar' is related to dilly-dally. English schools traditionally started at nine o'clock or earlier, so anyone who arrived at ten o'clock would be rather late. This verse has elements of nonsense with its contradictory third and fifth lines.

[3] "The Queen of Hearts she made some tarts all on a summer's day;

The Knave of Hearts he stole the tarts and took them clean away.

The King of Hearts called for the tarts and beat the Knave full sore

The Knave of Hearts brought back the tarts and vowed he'd steal no more."

This rhyme first appeared in print as part of a 12 line verse in a feature called _The Hive: A Collection of Scraps in The European Magazine of 1782_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Later on Gaelig Day**

Alice stared up at the walls of Hatter's house stacked high with hats and bolts of fabric and trim in every imaginable color and some unimaginable as well. His improved coloring could not be due to a reduced practice in the trade, evidently.

"It isnae much, bit it suits mah purposes," Hatter stated.

"It's a lovely workroom, Hatter. Very suitable. It suits you just as it ought."

She could not fathom why his accent had made an appearance again. On their solitary ramble to his house from the tea party he had seemed to largely leave his madness behind him, as if it was tied more to his mad companions than to mercury. It had occurred to her that he was perhaps merely mercurial.

"Your hands must always be busy," she mused. She reached out a hand to grasp one of his in her own. "But they are not as badly treated as before."

"It is just the influence of the White Queen," he lisped.

"I could treat the scrapes that remain," Alice said, running a finger over a small red mark.

"Nae," he responded softly, pulling his hand away.

Alice sighed. She would like to do something for him, but she did not know what. Perhaps there was some tidying up that could be done here in his house. Glancing about the room, something caught her eye. It was a dress—a human sized dress—hanging in the corner. It was white and trimmed in blue. It reminded her of the dress he had made for her the last time she was in Underland, as it did not appear to have shoulders. That sounded delightful right about now, having just finished pulling along her messy dress buttoned stiffly up the back of the neck all the way from the Hare House.

"Dae ye lik' it?" he asked, taking note of the focus of her gaze.

"The dress? What's not to like, Hatter? It's perfectly lovely like everything you do."

She could not help but laugh when his eyes deepened in color.

"Tis fur ye, lassie. It wull fit."

"For me?" Alice asked, moving towards the dress as nimbly as she could in the crowded room with her heavy skirts dragging behind her.

He followed behind her, stopping within reach as she stroked the lovely fabric. Examining the care put into the garment, a Notion sneaked up on her and whispered something in her ear.

"Did you know I was coming, Hatter?"

"Ye did promise."

Alice had promised to return, but she had forgotten somewhere along the way that she had done so. Underland had begun once more to feel like a dream that she liked to pull off the shelf, when she was in need of cheering. She had made a promise and if it had not been for her flight of fancy to see the lovely little creatures in the looking glass, she might not have kept it. How distressing, she thought, inwardly scolding herself. She liked to think of herself as a great Keeper of Promises.

"I'm sorry, Hatter," she said, turning to face him.

She pressed the palm of her hand to his cheek as she had done at the tea party, watching the colors swirl in his eyes.

"Wull ye ca' me by mah name, Alice?"

"Your proper name?"

"Tarrant Hightopp."

"Of course, Mr. Hightopp," Alice promised.

It was an odd request: she had not thought the Hatter to be so formal, but she was happy to oblige. This was a promise she could easily keep, and she had some redressing to do.

"That isn't what he meant, my dear," a voice drawled as first a toothy grin and then a cat materialized hovering above them.

"Chessur!" Alice exclaimed.

"Slurvish, cat," the Hatter growled, as Alice's hand slipped from his face.[1]

"He wants to hear you say 'Tarrant,' the love-sick…"

Alice frowned, as Hatter swatted at the air and the cat disappeared.

"Ye'r nae welcome in 'ere, Chessur!" he shouted at the air.

Chessur reappeared just out of reach and to the left. "You have wanted her here and now she is, Hatter. He has wanted you here so desperately, my dear," Chessur assured her with a cheeky grin.

She did not know how to respond to Chessur's teasing.

"Best be out with it, Hatter," the Cat lectured, disappearing once more as the Hatter took another swing. "While you have Time," the disembodied voice concluded.

Tarrant seemed on the verge of madness, and Alice wanted to draw him back. She could not be concerned with Chessur and his ramblings.

"Tarrant?" she tried hesitantly.

Hatter stopped his useless cursing and swinging and turned back to her, his eyes gone wide.

"Yes, Alice?"

"You knew I would return, when I didn't know it myself anymore. I think that shows a great deal of…"

"Madness?"

"All of the best people are," Alice assured him, since he looked as if he thought this might be a very Bad Thing. "But, I was going to say, good-faith."

Hatter shifted on his feet, fumbling with his waistcoat and muttering, "Alice, why did you leave?"

Alice considered briefly. "I suppose, I left, because I had responsibilities. It was the Grownup Right Thing to do."

"Are you still quite Grownup?" he asked warily.

"Do I look it?" she teased.

"Ah dinnae wantae say whit ah think ye leuk lik', wee laddie."

Alice stared back down at her soiled skirts, musing, "Yes, I _am_ a mess."

The Hatter stuffed his hands in his pockets nervously, clearing his throat: "That's not what I meant."

"You should always say what you mean," Alice reminded him gently. "If we all went around saying what we didn't mean, we'd be in a terrible state of disarray."

"Well isn't that wise. Are you well acquainted with Wisdom?"

She hoped very much she had acquired some wisdom—and not just a storehouse of money—during her time travelling and working for the company.

"We've met," Alice said with a sly smile.

"I wondered, sometimes…when it was not teatime and I was not otherwise employed in teatime duties…" he began but stopped, seemingly embarrassed.

"Yes?" she urged him to continue.

"What you were doing," he finished.

"Travelling the world," she answered simply.

"Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?" he sing-songed, reaching up to pet her pulled back hair.

She was too kind to show that she had noticed his hand tremble with a slight tremor as he reached for her. She could not help but inhale, however, at his touch: such a thing was not permitted in Otherland and it would take some getting used to if Hatter continued to be so unknowingly _familiar_.

"I've been to London to look at the Queen," she completed the rhyme for him.[2]

"So, you shan't be going back?" he asked, just as he had done at the tea party.

The Hatter or Tarrant seemed rather prickled by this particular Problem. She bit her lower lip, thinking. He wanted an answer: a real once, but she was not sure she had one for him. She may have made her fortune, but she did still have responsibilities. It simply would not do to disappear from her bedchamber and never appear again: surely, her mother would be worried. And she may have left some messy marks on the looking glass that would be someone else's responsibility. Bother, she thought indignantly: decisions—real ones and not the business kind—were so unpleasant. She wondered if a riddle would do in place of an answer. He was rather fond of them.

She was prevented from answering him or thinking of a riddle, however, when a knock sounded on the Hatter House door.

The Hatter sighed, evidently growing weary of impudent interruptions. "Who th' blast is that?" he demanded, striding towards the door and pulling it open with energy.

A pink nose twitched at the door. Alice could not have been more pleased to see the White Rabbit holding a proclamation by his side.

"Nivens," the Hatter grumbled. "Whit dae yi'll waant?"

The Hatter did not share her enthusiasm for the visitor.

Alice hurried forward, abandoning the lovely gown for the moment. "Shall I meet with all of my old friends today?" she asked cheerfully.

"I hope not," the Hatter muttered to himself.

"Lady Alice," the Rabbit said, addressing her and holding the proclamation above his head so that it unfurled to the ground. "I come on behalf of her Majesty the White Queen to request your attendance at the castle. Tonight," he added.

Alice wondered at the length of the proclamation: there must have been something other than what Nivens read aloud on the parchment. But, as she squinted, the words seemed to dance and transform. So, perhaps he was merely doing his best given the changeable circumstances.

"Tonight?" the Hatter asked in exasperation. He pulled his broken pocket watch from his waistcoat and examined it closely. He tapped the face with certainty, asserting, "There simply isn't Time."

"The Queen has spoken with Time. He shall wait."

"It grows dark already," the Hatter argued back.

"Are Hatters afraid of the dark?" Nivens responded, rolling the proclamation back up and tucking it under his arm.

The Rabbit shivered slightly himself, as if he might suffer from such an affliction.

"Of course not!" the Hatter said, affronted by the very suggestion. "But, all the same, we'll come tomorrow," Hatter continued to argue.

"That won't do. The Queen explicitly said _tonight_. She has made _preparations_. What ingratitude! What dubious dedication to one's Queen! After the Queen was so kind to invite _you_ as well, Hatter."

A swishing cat tail materialized by the door and Chessur's mouth-less voice addressed Nivens, "He wants to be alone with _her_. There's no use reasoning with a mad man."

Alice did not believe that. She believed that Tarrant could most certainly be reasoned with. He was not unreasonable, only mildly mercurial or manic or mad, maybe. But then, she had been considering things that began with the letter 'M' lately.

"Well, I can't stand around and argue with him all day. I'll be late!" Nivens haughtily said with a nose twitch.

"We can't say 'no' to the Queen, Tarrant," Alice reasoned, laying her hand on her friend's tense shoulder.

Something about her statement or touch seemed to soften his resolve.

"Yes, Alice. Of course, Alice," he lisped.

Perfectly reasonably, Alice congratulated herself on being right.

…

* * *

[1] _slurvish_ - selfish, self-centered

[2] ""Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?"

"I've been to London to look at the Queen."

"Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you there?"

"I caught a little mouse under the chair.""

Percy B. Green, author of _A History of Nursery Rhymes_ (1899), wrote the following about the Pussycat, Pussycat nursery rhyme: "No doubt the incident giving rise to this verse had to do with the terrible fright Queen Bess (Elizabeth) is supposed to have had on discovering a mouse in the folds of her dress - for it was she of virgin fame to whom pussy-cat paid the visit."


	3. Chapter 3

**Later Still on Gaelig Day**

Alice changed out of her soiled clothes, and it felt so nice to be rid of them: free of corsets, free of layers of underskirts, and free of the buttons running up the back of her neck making it difficult to draw breath. Yet, while changing in the bedchamber with Hatter's personal affects dotting the room, she began to feel a bit shy about donning the dress that he had made for her in her absence. And when she had doffed the other items, she could not fathom where to stash them. She finally settled on folding them up into as inconspicuous a stack as possible and stowing them on a high shelf. Mallymkun may have been right: she had lost at least some of her muchness if such a trifle as a change of clothing could shake her resolve.

Holding onto the doorknob, she attempted to steel herself.

"Don't just stand there, gripping me like an idiot!" the knob griped testily.

"Oh, pardon me," Alice said, finally managing to turn the knob. She emerged from the bedchamber and scanned the room for the Hatter. "Are we ready then?" she asked, as her eyes lit upon his form, leaning against a worktable.

He folded his arms across his chest, declaring, "I would rather not."

"If I have learned one thing, dear Hatter, since returning to Otherland, it is that we must sometimes do things that we would rather not."

"Like fighting the Jabberwocky?" he asked with a rakish smile.

"I _wanted_ to help…after I stopped feeling as if I was being told."

"Are we not being told just now?"

"It is the Grownup Thing to do," Alice asserted.

He paused, straightening his hat, thinking on something that made his brows draw together in concentration. "It may have been very Grownup, Alice, but I wish you had not left…Underland."

She smiled a little sadly. It seemed as if her leaving had caused him some amount of pain. Her decision to leave had been made very hastily without considering how it might make some people feel. Thoughtless, Alice, she chided herself. Once she had some privacy, she would give herself a real and proper scolding.

"Nothing to do about that now, I suppose."

"No, I suppose not," he agreed with a smile she did not quite believe. He offered her his arm. "It will be a long walk."

"I am not tired," she assured him, linking her arm through his.

"You won't be travelling by hat this time, but it will be a pleasant walk. Wait until you see the moon," he said softly, as he pulled the door of the house open to the night air.

The stars shone brighter than she was accustomed to seeing them shine: more than just suitably brilliant stars, and the moon still somehow managed to outshine them. Cheeky stars.

Alice's face broke into a broad smile, remembering yet something else from her last trip. "Twinkle, twinkle, little bat," she cooed.

"I need not wonder where you're at," he finished for her. "Everything is better now," the Hatter said with a satisfied sigh.

Alice could not be sure if he merely meant Underland under the reign of the White Queen or something else. Something Else seemed to be dancing on her shoulder, taunting her with pleasant possibilities.

"We shan't need a lantern to light the way," she observed.

"Girls and boys come out to play, the moon doth shine as bright as day," the Hatter whispered, leaning close to her ear, tickling her with his breath. [1]

Alice squeezed his arm in silent reply.

"You are no longer a girl," the Hatter amended, somewhat apologetically as they set out on the path before them.

"Did you like me better as a girl, Tarrant?" Alice teased.

He arched a brow at her.

"Do you wish me to betray myself, Alice?" he asked, his voice lowering an octave but failing to take on his Scottish brogue.

"No," she quickly replied, not wishing to take her teasing too far, although Chessur's words floated as incorporeally through her mind as the Cat himself did. It would not do to come to Underland and be thought of as a flirt, she thought.

"There were things I wanted to tell you," he began, before faltering.

"You can always tell me anything," she promised. "We are friends. We have been since I was a little girl. Have we not?"

"Yes, since you were a girl," he agreed, yet managed to sound conflicted.

Something had troubled her mind and now seemed an excellent Time to mention it. No Time like the Present. "Hatter, when I was small, you were big. And when I was big, you were just the same."

"I had not drunk any pishsalver. You were the only one that did that, and then the upelkuchen, making you too big—not Just Right Alice, as you are now. You _did_ like the upelkuchen, gobbling up too much when you only needed just a bit, Greedy Little Alice," he said with a wink.

She needed to be more specific. Words have meaning, she reprimand herself. "I came here as a child," she corrected herself, "and it seems to me that you have not changed since. I remember you just as you are now. Except…except looking improved, since my last visit."

The Hatter stole a sideways glance at her, seemingly intrigued by her approving appraisal of him.

"Time is a funny fellow."

"But Time has passed for you, surely."

"It has and it hasn't," he hedged.

"How old are you?" Alice asked, recognizing that she had been taught that this was a very rude question.

"I have had countless unbirthdays. Most of them were charmingly mad parties with tea and cake and singing. And plenty of riddles to solve—I do love a riddle."

"We don't count unbirthdays in Otherland, Hatter."

"Neither do we, Alice dear. I said, _countless_."

Alice frowned, "You're not that mad: I know you're being intentionally obtuse."

"Obtuse?" he chuckled. "I am not yet ninety and I am certainly less than one hundred and eighty!" [2]

Alice frown turned into a petite scowl, which she hoped was stern enough to convey that frightening quality her mother had once upon a time employed with her and Margaret, when attempting to cow them.

"Your face might freeze like that, you know," the Hatter said, imitating her downturned mouth and creased brow, "which would be a Sin and a Shame." The Hatter sighed dramatically, when Alice remained silent. "Very well, how old are _you_?" he asked, before adding the warning, "klotchyn," as he helped her over an overgrown tree root that crept obstinately across the path. [3]

Not quite properly cowed, she considered before giving her response, "Twenty-two."

"Twenty-two," he repeated, as if letting the number slide down into his shoes. "Then, I am old," he said wistfully.

"You don't seem old to me."

"That is merely because I am gallymoggers," he said, choking back a giggle that threatened to form on the tip of his tongue. [4]

She turned towards him, stopping in her tracks. "You should not say such things about yourself, Tarrant. I won't have such things said about my _particular_ friend."

The Hatter swallowed and with the bright moon filtering light down through the tree tops, Alice could see his eyes deepen in color. She wished she had a color coded guide to his feelings, so that she might understand them more completely.

"Yes, Alice," he finally said.

Satisfied with his concurrence, Alice attempted to begin their trek once more, but the Hatter stood his ground, and with her arm interlaced with his, she could not successfully make forward progress. She glanced down at his feet to make certain the fixedness was truly his fault and not the fault of a very minute patch of quicksand. But, his feet were clearly fixed to this spot of their own accord, she realized, staring down at them. She looked up once more as he began to speak.

"I did not say it earlier, because I did not trust myself, but…bit ye look bonny, lassie." [5]

Alice's stomach hitched, the way it had done earlier in the day. Maybe she was hungry: they had missed Brillig and there was nothing to be done for dinner because of it. [6]

"I wager it's the beautiful dress."

"Na, th' dress has hung in th' house fur years 'n' ah ne'er wanted tae look at it th' way a'm wantin' tae look at ye."

If she was looking for meaning in the brogue, it now seemed to her that it did not solely indicate anger. It quite possibly indicated something much more...

Alice felt the Hatter's arm tremble—from exposure to mercury or something else. Everything seemingly had new layers of possibilities.

"Oh, Hatter," she said with affection.

"You do not have to say anything, Alice," he said in a tone she could not read, but once again with the brogue stripped from his speech.

"Oh, but I do have something to say, Tarrant," she replied.

"Do you?" he asked, looking a bit confused.

"Yes," she said, reaching up to grip the brim of his hat with her slender fingertips. "I'd like to wear your hat."

She pulled the hat from his head, and his eyes swirled with color, as if he did not know what to make of the playful request that would normally be taken as a serious threat to the Security and Sanctity of his hat.

"I…I could make you a hat of your own," he stuttered slightly, as he watched her inspect the hat carefully.

"I don't want another hat," she insisted, as she ran her finger along the length of one of his hat pins.

"N…no?" he stumbled.

"No, I want this one." She lowered it onto her own still coifed head, tilting it at a dangerous angle. "Does it complete the effect, Hatter?" she asked sweetly.

The Hatter's eyes turned blue once more, as he managed to speak, "Aye."

* * *

[1] The rhyme may date back to the time when children were expected to work during the day, and playtime was in the evening. It appeared in the earliest extant collection of nursery rhymes, _Tommy Thumb's Pretty Song Book_, published in London around 1744 with the following lines:

"Girls and boys, are come out to play,

The moon doth shine as bright as day;

Leave your supper, and leave your sleep,

And come with your playfellows into the street.

Come with a whoop, come with a call,

Come with a good will or not at all."

[2] An obtuse angle is more than ninety degrees and less than one hundred and eighty degrees.

[3] _klotchyn_ – heads up, pay attention

[4] _gallymoggers_ – crazy

[5] _bonnie_ - pretty

[6] _Brillig_ – 4 o'clock in the afternoon, the time you begin broiling things for dinner


	4. Chapter 4

**Nuning Day**

While Time had indeed waited for them, it was still very late when Alice and the Hatter arrived at Marmoreal, and Mirana had them ushered off to their respective quarters to sleep through the rest of the night now that Time was free to move at will. Being as tired as she was, when the morning sun streamed through her window and told her it was time to rise, Alice did not remember entering the bedchamber or laying her head down on this heavenly soft pillow. Looking about the all white room, she did note, however, that the Hatter's top hat was gone. He must have reclaimed it sometime during the last exhausting leg of their journey about which she remembered very little.

Alice was attempting to make herself presentable for breakfast when the Queen floated into her chamber, hands held aloft as if she was dancing across the floor to the sound of silent chimes.

"Oh, Your Majesty!" Alice said, dropping a curtsey.

"My Champion," Mirana responded gently. "You should not have woken. I would have had Time wait for you to rise."

Alice momentarily thought it odd that the Queen did not seem surprised that she had come back to Underland when she did, but then she recalled the Oraculum. In all likelihood, the Queen knew she would return before she did herself. And yet, the Queen had not seen fit to tell anyone this information. Curious, Alice thought.

"Is everyone else up?"

The Queen tilted her head and her dark lips spread into a serene smile. "I can't speak for everyone, Alice, but many people are indeed awake."

"Then, I should be awake too. Time shouldn't wait on account of me. I believe Tarrant and I caused him too much trouble last night as it is."

Alice thought that the Queen's perennially composed countenance slipped just a bit at the use of the Hatter's given name.

"Mr. Hightopp is awake as well," the Queen responded, blinking her doe eyes in feigned innocence. When Alice failed to respond to what she perceived might be teasing, the Queen began once more, as she floated towards the windows. "The Champion has returned, and we must celebrate as soon as you are feeling up to it."

"I shall feel better, shortly, I'm sure."

"Of course you will. You are in Underland. Everything is right now, as it should be."

"I am happy to be back and see everything looking so much better. All due to you, Your Majesty, I am told."

"Yes, everything is quite beautiful." The Queen peered out the window, her hands still held aloft. "Have you admired the gardens, yet, Alice?" she asked.

How would she have admired them _in the dark_, Alice wondered? Even with the moon and stars as bright as they were? It was still unclear why it was necessary for herself and Hatter to tramp through the night to meet with the Queen. Although, it occurred to her that the White Queen, while consciously dedicated to goodness, might also be as capricious in some ways as her sister had been. If that was indeed the reason for the summons, it was less worrisome than the thought of having to come yet again to the Queen and Underland's rescue, although she would do it again if she must.

Alice padded in her bare feet towards the Queen and directed her gaze to where the Queen was looking. It became clear to her that the Queen did not care for her to see the gardens at all, but what was moving about in them.

The Queen gestured to the left. Yes, there below was the Hatter, pacing in the garden with his hat perched atop his head in its usual place.

"Oh, no. Is he quite mad?" Alice whispered.

The Queen sighed prettily. "A little, I'm afraid."

"I thought he was better. He seemed better to me."

"He is, generally. He is not as consumed with revenge, which has lightened his burden. He just seems…" Mirana said, twirling her fingers, "a little out of sorts today."

Alice turned her back on the window and the pacing Hatter.

"I perhaps did wrong." The Queen said nothing, but Alice felt her eyes upon her. "I teased him. I took his hat." Now in the light of day, Alice could not fathom why she had done such a thing.

"Oh," Mirana laughed. "I think he liked that you did."

Alice's stomach hitched. What a troublesome organ a stomach was, always having its say at the most inconvenient times. Although, it was right: it had been many hours since she had eaten. Breakfast could not come too soon.

"He liked it _too much_, I think," Mirana concluded. "Well, my dear, Alice," the Queen continued, floating past her, "come down to breakfast when you are ready." She paused in the doorway, looking over her shoulder, her long white tresses swinging to the side. "And you might fetch the Hatter, so that he may have some sustenance as well. Escorting a Champion can be quite exhausting, so I am told."

…

"Hatter?" Alice called, wandering between the hedgerows, trying to find the pacing Hatter.

Alice paused, thinking she saw tan shoed feet moving behind the hedgerow to her right. She bent down to peek underneath the hedge and discovered they were not merely feet, but feet attached to legs as well—legs in pin-striped trousers that looked as if they might belong to the Hatter.

"Hatter!" she called, hurrying around the edge of the hedgerow and lifting the skirts of the dress that the Hatter had given her the previous day. "There you are," she said with a smile, as the full Hatter came into sight.

It had only been a few hours since she had last seen him. Nevertheless, having previously forgotten him altogether while in Otherland, Alice was seized with immeasurable joy upon seeing him in person again and knowing him, _remembering him_. He continued to pace, however, paying no heed to her appearance before him in the garden.

"Hatter," she said more firmly.

When he continued to pace frenetically, Alice lifted her hand to grasp his shoulder. Her touch froze him mid stride. He glanced sideways at her and she could see his eyes fleck with a variation of color.

"Good morning, Tarrant."

His eyes settled into a brilliant green, as he twisted around to face her and bow. "Good morning, Alice."

"You have got your hat back," she observed, as he donned it again, having removed it during his bow.

"Yes," he said, running his thumb and index finger along its brim. "But I shall make you one of your own if you like," he lisped.

"I'm sorry if I upset you by taking it," Alice apologized.

The Hatter pulled the front of the brim down lower over his forehead and looked down at his shoes, scuffing them in the thick turf.

"Ah didnae mind, as ah thought ah would," he confessed.

And yet, until a moment ago, he was still pacing here in the garden, made at least a smidgen mad by something. The Queen's opinion on the matter of the hat taking made no sense to Alice either. It must be true that they were all indeed a little mad.

She noticed that his eyes looked slightly more heavily shadowed than she recalled them being yesterday.

"Did you not sleep well, Hatter?" she asked concernedly.

"I didn't."

She was about to ask if his chambers were not comfortable, when he began again, interrupting her thoughts.

"Sleep. I did not sleep. Not a wink." He spoke slowly, as if he was trying to work out the meaning himself.

"Why not?"

"I was pacing."

"For heaven's sake," she said, her brows drawing together. "You must sleep, Hatter. We all must sleep, for if we did not we would very soon not be of much use to anyone."

"I very much like being of use, but I had so much to think about, you see," he explained, biting his lower lip.

He needed a restorative breakfast more than she did, she realized.

"Will you come inside with me?" she asked.

He looked from under the brim of his hat, appearing uncertain. "I was in the middle of things."

She knew very well what he was in the middle of, and she wished to help him out of it. "I have a riddle for you," she began. "A hill full, a hole full, you cannot fill a bowl full."

He cocked his head barely pausing to ponder: "Mist."[1]

"I shall have to think up better riddles, dear Hatter. You are too skilled at them." She could tell that he swallowed by the bob of his bow tie. "You will tire yourself out," she advised him, obliquely referencing his fit of madness. "Come in for breakfast with me. Breakfast is the most essential meal of the day."

Her hand went to grasp his. At first his hand did not respond, but it shortly squeezed Alice's in response, pressing two thimbles into her palm.

"Tea?" he croaked, running his calloused thumb over her knuckles.

"We shall have tea later, Hatter, dear."

"You will be here for tea?" he asked, his eyes shifting vaguely to yellow and his hand holding hers more tightly.

"Yes, I shall, but _now_ it is time for breakfast. We have trifled enough with Time as it is."

"Yes, quite right," he answered with a businesslike nod. He let her hand slip as he reached in his waistcoat for his pocket watch. Examining the time, he shook his head. "Hickory dickory dock! We're late according to the clock," he lisped, tucking the watch away once more and offering her his arm.[2]

…

When Alice came to tea that day, she noted that the Hatter looked just a little bit surprised that she was there, despite her assurances that she would be. His mood visibly improved, so that he was actually a little bit cheeky, sitting at her left side.

The cheekiness continued right through Brillig and dinner into the evening's festivities, which included a light show performed by lightening bugs orchestrated by a chamber group of grasshoppers, crickets, and beetles.

"I like the lightening bugs best."

"I best like the fireflies."

"They ain't fireflies."

"Fireflies they are."

"Nohow. Lightening bugs they is."

"That being the same thing."

"Not so."

"Yes so."

Alice giggled at the Tweedles, covering her mouth.

"Are you…tipsy?" the Hatter asked, leaning over from his seat so as to be within whispering distance of her.

"No," she lied, hoping to look properly affronted.

She had never had so much champagne in her life. At least, she thought it was champagne. They called it bubblefrothal, but it seemed the same to her.

"_Alice_," he teased, drawing out her name luxuriously.

"I'm perfectly…perfectly pleasantly…" Alice giggled once more, and the Hatter cocked a brow at her.

"_Naughty_."

Alice sprung from her chair and hurried down a garden path, rushing past guests whose white attire was lit theatrically by paper lanterns. She felt certain the Hatter would follow her, but she threw a look over her shoulder just to be sure. It was affirming to see Hatter advancing towards her in his tartan with practiced composure. She giggled again, thinking that she was now the mad one and the Hatter sane. The last of the guests had vanished behind them as Alice darted amongst white rose bushes, which glowed in the moonlight. Alice would have teased them in her current state of delightful disorder, but these were not the talking kind of flowers. The benefit of that being that these would not report whatever foolishness she did or said. For, she had every Intention of being very foolish.

"All around the mulberry bush," she said breathlessly, as she circled a rose bush.

"You want me to _chase_ _you_, Alice?" the Hatter purred.

Alice laughed throatily, swinging around another bush and nearly catching her skirt in the thorns. Such funny things, roses—all sweetness and splendor mixed with a possible threat. A bit like the Hatter himself, she considered. The Hatter was now closer, but still strode hands clasped behind his back with surprising self assurance.

"The monkey chased the weasel," Alice sang louder.

"You make a very poor weasel, Alice, dear."

"Nohow!" she retorted, mimicking the Tweedles. "The monkey thought 'twas all in fun," she continued, skipping backwards to watch him approach.

"And these are most certainly not mulberry bushes, silly creature." He was now within reach.

"A penny for a spool of thread," she laughed, her fingertips reaching out to brush his fluffed bowtie as she continued to dance backwards. "A penny for a needle. That's the way the money goes!"

"_Pop! Goes the weasel_," he stage whispered, gripping her by the arms. A smile spread across his face and he laughed: not the laugh of a mad man, but a sincere joy filled laugh.[3]

"I'm curious," Alice began, licking her lips as she regained her breath before the Hatter interrupted her.

"Of course you are. Curious Alice."

"How did the Queen arrange the lightening bugs to dance just so?"

The Hatter's hands slipped from her arms. "How does she do anything? The real question is how she got those bugs to play music. After all, it's not as if they're badgers."

"Badgers?"

"Notoriously musical, badgers are."

Alice snorted a little inelegantly. "I don't know about badgers, Hatter, but where I come from, those kinds of bugs do make a kind of music. But lightening bugs most certainly cannot perform choreographed light shows on command."

"What a funny place that must be. Or not funny. Decidedly unfunny, mirthless, miserable, melancholic, but then, I've been investigating things that begin with the letter 'M' of late."

Alice pressed her lips together tightly, trying to hold back another giggle that threatened to pour forth.

"I can think of nicer words that start with 'M,' you know. They needn't all be so glum. Like marmalade, music, merriment, or moonlight," he said pointing aloft.

Regaining some of her composure, she tried to speak again. "In my world, dormice cannot wield swords, the flowers do not talk, neither do the animals that are quite naked, and tea is only had once a day."

"I am shocked on behalf of tea; Nivens on behalf of animals everywhere. Sounds like a stupid place with a great many stupid things in it," the Hatter said with cheeky grin. "Except for you, Alice. You are not stupid."

"I should hope not," Alice said, flouncing over to a garden bench. "Although, I believe Absolem called me stupid a time or two."

He joined her on the bench, stretching his legs out lazily before him and draping one arm behind her back. Alice noted the impropriety, but could not summon the fortitude to feign caring. Hatter was generally very gentlemanly, despite his madness. It was possible he did not know that this sort of thing was improper where she came from or it was also possible that he too had overindulged in the bubblefrothal , leaving his judgment impaired.

"Absolem is testy. Some might say touchy or temperamental. I am of the latter view," the Hatter said matter-of-factly.

"I haven't seen him, since I came back," she realized, thinking aloud.

"Nor will you."

"Why is that? I saw him in Otherland, you know."

"Lucky, Absolem," he murmured.

"You have not answered my question," Alice pressed.

"You will not see him, because Absolem is not."

"Not?"

"No longer for now," he vaguely responded.

He was not making much sense, but it did not seem to be due to madness. Whatever her thoughts on the matter, they left her mind, because she suddenly felt his hand lazily intertwine in her hair, the thimbles slipping through the silky strands. It was such a divine Sensation that she quite lost herself in it.

"I like your hair down like this," he observed, "all loose and long. It does not want cutting."[4]

Alice's stomach flipped. Perhaps she truly had drunk too much bubblefrothal.

"I would have made a hat for you if you would have let me," he continued, still running his hand through her hair.

"You would have missed tea if you had."

"I never miss tea."

"Your accent…" she paused, wondering if it was thoughtless to bring attention to the signs of his madness, even if it was to note that they were missing.

"I'm very content," he explained, seemingly unperturbed by her implied question. But then his eyes shifted colors quickly and his voice turned hesitant, "Will you stay this time?"

His hand was poised in her hair, unmoving, awaiting her response. His contentment seemed to hinge on her remaining in Underland. Would she stay? It was a wonderfully marvelous, mad idea. She loved her friends. She loved this wonderland. She loved…

"Yes, I'll stay," she impulsively said, slipping from the bench. "Come, Tarrant. We'll be missed." She held out her hand to the man whose eyes had just turned that peculiar shade of blue once more.

"Alice," he said, standing and stepping towards her.

"Yes?"

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

She smiled, rocking on the balls of her feet towards him, as if pulled by a string.

"I don't know. Why _is_ a raven like a writing desk?"

He smiled down at her, obviously pleased.

"I haven't the slightest idea."

* * *

[1] From Beatrix Potter's _The Tale of Squirrel Nutkin_

[2] Hatter misquotes from:

"Hickory, dickory, dock,

The mouse ran up the clock.

The clock struck one,

The mouse ran down,

Hickory, dickory, dock."

The earliest copy of the rhyme is in _Tommy Thumb's Pretty Song Book_ (1744).

[3] 'To pop' meant to pawn in England. Hatters, who used a tool called a weasel, would often pawn it to pay bar tabs. Therefore, 'Pop Goes the Weasel' is a song about a hatter's cost of living—thread, needles, and whatever else caused them to 'pop' their weasels.

[4] Hatter's first remark to Alice at the Mad Tea Party in _Alice in Wonderland_ is a rude personal remark: "Your hair wants cutting."


	5. Chapter 5 pt 1

This chapter is broken into two parts.

**Malieal Day**

Alice awoke once more in the chamber given to her by the Queen, but she awoke this morning feeling out of sorts—both physically and mentally. Cursed bubblefrothal, she thought to herself, as she squinted in the early morning sunlight. She stared into the looking glass, contemplating her pale features. The late evening and overindulgence had drained her of color. She had made promises that in the light of day she was no longer sure she could keep. That perhaps had stripped the color from her cheeks as well. Careless Alice, she soundly scolded herself.

The looking glass only reflected back her paled features, her streaming blond hair unkempt about her shoulders, the white night clothes in which she was still wrapped, and her bare feet; no little creatures at play in the distance reflected back to her, as they had done in her bedchamber at home, drawing her closer to her looking glass. Although, perhaps someone somewhere was looking at _her_—a speck in their looking glass, looking rather glum and muddled.

Home. Where was that exactly?

As she was pondering this ponderous question, she noted something on the dressing table beside the looking glass, which she had not immediately observed: a vase full of white roses cut from the palace's rose garden. Someone must have come in the early morning to place them there while she slept. Intuition mumbled to her that she could guess the source of these tokens.

A knock sounded on the door, drawing her from her troubled reverie.

"Come in," she called, pulling her wrapper about her more tightly and tucking her hair behind her ears.

She doubted it was the Queen coming to call: the Queen had merely waltzed in the previous morning unannounced.

"Mally," she said, as the Dormouse emerged behind the door.

"Good morning," the Dormouse hailed, scampering forward to stand within a few inches of Alice's feet.

"Good morning," Alice replied, trying to infuse her statement with sincerity, although she was not yet sure whether it would be a very fine good day or a very bad no good day.

"I have been sent to check on you," Mally pronounced, sounding somewhat annoyed by her task.

"You have? By the Queen?" Alice asked, reaching for a brush to tame her locks.

"No…by Hatter," Mally admitted begrudgingly.

"Ah…" Alice said meaninglessly, as she stared once more into the looking glass, which refused to reflect anything back but her pale paling paled features and her hand frozen above her head, holding the brush aloft.

"To check on you and to ask whether you…like your flowers," Mally asked, looking up at the vase with a frown.

Alice placed the brush down and ran her fingertips over the tops of the white roses. They were lovely roses. Perfectly pleasant in all ways, but looking at them and imagining the sentiment behind the sending of them made her sorry indeed. The sender believed that she would stay. The recipient was not so sure.

"Are you well then?" Mally asked, fiddling with the sash about her waist, clearly wishing to be done with her duties and the nonresponsive Alice.

"Yes, I am well…only tired. I…I shan't be at breakfast, Mally. Send my regrets if you will, please."

"Running all over the palace as if I'm a messenger," Mally grumbled. The Dormouse paused her grousing to regard Alice, squinting her eyes at her. "You look worse than _only tired_. You look as if you have drunk too much bubblefrothal," Mally twittered before hurrying from the room.

…

Alice was lounging on a chaise, still undressed and staring listlessly, when the door once more drifted open and the Queen floated through followed by a fish servant carrying a tray.

"Good morning, Alice," the Queen said, moving across the floor silently.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," Alice responded, sitting upright.

"Do not trouble yourself, dear," the Queen said, preventing Alice from standing with a wave of the hand.

The Queen nodded at the chaise, indicating that the servant should set the tray down beside Alice. The fish did so and then Mirana swept her hands, indicating that she no longer needed its services. The Queen sat beside Alice and fanned her hands over the tray.

"Jam, Alice?"

Alice sighed, "Jam today?" She leaned forward and reached for a scone and butter knife to spread the strawberry jam. "Is it not unusual to have jam today?"

"Jam to-morrow, jam yesterday, but I thought you might use some jam today, my dear," the Queen explained as Alice took a bite of the scone. "It helps with the aftereffects of the bubblefrothal," she added knowingly. "And if this does not do it, we can go to the kitchen and I will concoct a potion that will be sure to work wonders for you."[1]

"Mmm…" Alice mumbled around the scone. "I think the jam will do it." The thought of buttered fingers or any other kind of atrocity the Queen might employ did not sit well with her at the moment. Besides, the curative effect of the jam was already making her head hurt less around the corners.

"You were missed at breakfast," the Queen said without reproach.

"I could not rouse myself. Too much bubblefrothal, as you suspected, I'm afraid," Alice said, licking some wayward jam from the corner of her mouth.

"Then you enjoyed yourself last night, Alice?"

"Oh, yes. Thank you. Although, I'm fairly certain that my _enjoyment_ was no secret. I made a dreadful scene."

"Your behavior was not out of the norm," the Queen reminded her with a generous smile.

"I would not have gotten away with such antics at home," Alice admitted. "But everything was exquisite. I don't know how you pulled it all together so quickly."

"I knew you were coming. I had weeks to prepare," the Queen answered simply, as if this should not come as a surprise.

Indeed, it did not: Alice had thought this might be the case. Ever since she had awoken that first morning in the palace, she had wondered whether the Queen knew all along that she was coming. She set down the scone, feeling a little out of sorts to find that her suspicions had been confirmed. It seemed to her a lie of omission on the part of the Queen. White Lies, it would appear, were not her only specialty.

"Did anyone else know I was coming?"

"No, I did not share with anyone the details of the Oraculum," the Queen said with a smile.

Again, just as she thought. "Why not?"

The Queen tilted her head, blinking her eyes, explaining, "I have decided not to resort to examining the Oraculum except when _absolutely_ necessary."

"But _you_ knew I was coming. _You_ saw fit to examine it."

A flash of white teeth showed between the Queen's darkened lips. "I assure you that it was necessary."

"Then what is wrong in Underland?" She hoped very much nothing was wrong. Especially not today, she thought selfishly, when she had overindulged the previous night.

"It wasn't a What that was wrong, but a Who. Affection—a _very_ insistent mistress—demanded that I seek answers."

"A who was wrong?" Alice shook her head. "Whom?"

The Queen waved her hand somewhat dismissively, "There is no reason to worry now. The Champion is here."

"But shall I always be?" Alice suddenly felt very childish. She only wanted someone to tell her what to do, so that she did not have to make decisions on her own—a shocking turn of events, given that she usually resented being told what to do very much.

"I can't say," the Queen said, drifting from the chaise and walking about the room.

"You haven't looked at the Oraculum to see if I stay?"

The Queen did not respond, but paused at the vase of roses.

"Forgive me, your Majesty, but you _can't_ say or you _won't_ say?"

Mirana leaned over to smell the fragrant roses, sighing musically, "I find that when you tell someone about the future as it is foretold, it influences their decisions. As you know, my dear, I prefer these things to be your choice. You have a decision to make, Alice. Neither I nor the Oraculum can make it for you."

"I don't know what to do though," Alice said in exasperation.

"You came through a looking glass," the Queen mused, as she glanced into the looking glass.

"Yes, I did."

"You will have to return the same way."

"So, I am going home?" Alice was becoming flustered by this round about dealing. The Queen had refused to allow her to see the Oraculum, but her words seemed just as telling.

"You already knew that you would, did you not?" the Queen asked.

Alice could not bring herself to respond. Perhaps she _had_ always known, and spoken otherwise nonetheless. That seemed Very Bad.

"You merely wonder whether you will be leaving for the moment or Forever."

Mirana was right.

"I have a family. People that will worry if I don't return."

"You needn't explain," the Queen said, extending her arms in a balletic manner. "_Not to me_," she added softly. "Once you return home, then you will have to make your decision. You shall have to think things through. Examine yourself."

"Know thyself," Alice said a little wearily.

Mirana arched a brow, "I will keep the looking glass in your bedchamber open to our world, so that you may return at any time if you wish."

Alice rubbed her eyes. "If I did come back…"

"Yes?"

"What would I do? Who would I be?"

"You may _do_ whatever strikes your fancy," the Queen responded. "And you can _be_ Alice Kingsleigh, unless you have another name in mind."

Alice frowned. The Queen was not making much sense again. "I must have _something_ to do. While it is nice to be amongst one's friends and attend tea parties and play games, I would grow tired of such things. I have a very…curious personality," Alice explained.

"A very admirable quality, I'm sure. Although, I doubt someone as curious as you would allow yourself to remain bored for long. The limits of your imagination are your only limitations, Alice."

Alice nodded, still uncertain. The idea that she might choose to stay here Forever was no less confusing than the last time she had been asked to stay: she would need to do a lot of puzzling and winkling out when she got home.

"I shall send you to the Chamber of Mirrors with the Hatter. He can escort the Champion on her journey."

The Queen was right about her needing to return home and make her decion, but she seemed hopelessly misled about an appropriate choice of escort. Alice pulled her feet up underneath her on the chaise, her stomach once more flipping awkwardly: had the jam not worked as she had hoped it would, she wondered?

"I don't know whether you should send Tarrant with me, your Majesty."

"Why is that, Alice, dear?" Mirana asked, turning from the looking glass to address her.

"Because, he is rather worried that I will leave…and I promised him last night that I would not."

The Queen's brow knit for just the briefest of moments, breaking her continually serene composure. "We should not make promises that we cannot keep."

"I know. It was not very…not very Grownup. I was happy and he was happy. I wanted it to stay that way Forever."

"Be that as it may, Alice, there is no one in Underland I trust to escort you more than my Royal Hatter. He has, as you know, done me any number of good services. I quite rely on him."

"It must be him?" Alice asked weakly.

The Queen nodded. "Shall I tell him or would you like to?"

"You tell him," Alice replied quietly. She had already failed to act like the grown woman she pretended at being, there was no use in trying to be grown now.

…

* * *

[1] 'The jam to-morrow and jam yesterday—but never jam today' rule comes from _Through the Looking Glass_, where the White Queen offers Alice jam every other day. This is a Latin joke that English school children would have understood. In Latin, _nunc_ and _iam_ (or 'jam,' as it was sometimes written) both mean 'now,' but _nunc_ is used in the present tense. _Iam_ or 'jam' cannot be used in the present tense, so one can never have jam today.


	6. Chapter 5 pt 2

Continued...

The Hatter's words echoed in her ears: "I never miss tea."

Yet, he had. Hatter had missed tea. After celebrating it day in and day out for who knows how many years, _Hatter had missed tea_. Alice would have never imagined that a missing person at teatime would cause her such alarm, but it did. Apparently she was not the only one thus affected: there was a general malaise at the table that hung over everyone except for Mally, who seemed boisterously happy for some unknown reason. Alice was happy enough for the uncomfortable teatime to be over, but instead of heading back to her to her chambers to curl up in a ball and try to forget the world, she came to the first Grownup decision she had made in a couple of days.

She would visit the Hatter.

Alice came to his chambers and was about to knock, when the knob spoke up, "You don't want to go in there."

"Why not?" Alice asked it.

She received her answer, however, not from the knob, but from a crashing bang from the other side of the door.

"It's a wreck," the knob warned, as she wrapped her hand around the knob. "He's a wreck. Totally mad. You best not go in there," it continued, even as she turned it and pulled the door open.

A half finished hat arched through the air in front of her, as she entered the room. The discarded hat joined an assortment of unfinished boaters, bonnets, caps, cloches, sunhats, and top hats. Her eyes lit on the Hatter, hunched over a table furiously engaged in his trade.

"Hatter," she stated firmly, and his head jerked up.

She noted that his eyes were bright orange and they were shaded by black circles that looked every bit like bruised black eyes. The knob had not lied.

"Go away, Alice," he said, violently shoving several pieces of silk off of the table. When she failed to move, he raised his voice: "Gae away, Alice!"

Alice placed her hands on her hips, scolding him, "You can't yell at me, Tarrant."

He laughed manically, "Ah can dae whitever ah please."

His eyes swirled, going muddy with color, as he knocked over a pincushion, sending it to the fabric and trim strewn floor. Having cleared a small space for himself, his head hit the table with a thud and remained pressed to the wood.

She hurried forward, concerned he had hurt himself. "Hatter?" she whispered.

He did not immediately respond, so she reached out to stroke his hand, which was draped haplessly over a pair of shears. His hand trembled beneath her light touch.

"Ye should nae touch me," he growled.

"I'm not afraid of you. I want to help you."

"Ah dinna want tae hurt ye. Or dae something we would baeth regret. Please," he begged, speaking into the table.

"I know you would never hurt me," Alice insisted, continuing to stroke his hand.

The Hatter raised his head a couple of inches before letting his head crash back down onto the unforgiving surface of the table.

"Hatter!" she shouted. "What are you doing?"

"Trying nae tae hurt ye!" he said, knocking his head into the table once more.

"You must stop this," Alice pleaded, feeling desperate.

Abruptly, the Hatter pushed away from the table, knocking over his chair in the process. He grabbed up the shears and drove them point down into the tabletop, leaving them standing upright. The violence of his quick actions startled Alice, and she stumbled two steps back. She could see a lump already beginning to form on his forehead.

"You are leaving even though you said you would not. But you are—you are leaving me. You were always planning on leaving. But why would you want to stay? What would make you stay? Nothing. There is nothing worth your while here. No one as good as you. As smart or kind or curious or…"

"Tarrant!" she shouted.

He shook his head, and she could tell he was trying to clear his mind. His hands fisted in his hair, knocking his hat off kilter. Saying his name was normally enough to call him from the madness, but not today, not in this moment.

"Here comes a candle to light you to bed, and here comes a chopper to chop off your head!" he gritted out before forcing a barked laugh, as he tugged on his hair.[1]

"You won't frighten me away. I'm not leaving, so you might as well come to your senses."

"Senses," he shouted angrily, "ah hivna gat any!"

"Tarrant," she tried again, more softly.

His chest heaved, breathing heavily as his hands fell to his sides.

"I should not have told you that I would stay. It's entirely my fault that you are upset, and I'm sorry for it. In the moment I wanted to stay, so I spoke without careful thought. But, I have to go home, Hatter, dear," she said, her voice pleading with him to understand through the haze of madness.

His eyes shifted from orange to yellow several times.

"Whit for?" he demanded.

It seemed cruel to tell him the real reason—her family. For what family did he have? They were all dead.

"I walked through a looking glass, because I saw you there, Tarrant," she explained, taking a tentative step towards him.

His eyes swirled once more this time with flecks of green, and she noted that his hands flexed uselessly at his side. His emotions were running wild and so was her pulse: she felt as if she was admitting to Something, but she was not sure what exactly that Something was.

"I didn't know it was you, but I couldn't look away. You were right there in the looking glass in my bedchamber."

His eyes briefly turned blue and he twisted away.

"I stepped right through and came looking for the lovely little creatures I had seen at the miniature table. I came for you, Hatter…even if I didn't know it at the time. I left the world Above without a second thought, but I left people behind as well, people that will worry about me if I don't go back. You understand that, don't you?" she pleaded.

"A willna escort ye. Ah dinna care whit th' Queen says," he responded, his voice rising slowly. He began to frantically pace, trampling bolts of fabric. "If ye knaw whit's good fur ye, ye will lea me, Alice."

She closed the distance between them with several quick steps and reached up to take his face in her hands. His cheeks were flushed and she could feel the warmth beneath his skin.

"It would seem that we neither of us can be adults at the same time, Hatter, dear," she said, running her thumbs over his high cheekbones. He was not making eye contact with her and she was not sure that he had heard what she said, although it seemed as if his eyes were trained on her lips. A muscle below his left eye twitched under her gentle ministrations and she tenderly shushed him the way one does a petulant child. "Come, you will displease the Queen with your refusal to accept her summons to be my escort. I know you do not wish to displease the Queen."

His gaze still seemed trained on her lips, when he huskily responded, "Ah canna tell ye whit ah wish."

Alice frowned: "You fought too hard for the Queen, for the resistance…"

"Forgit th' queen," he interrupted her. "Whit dae ye want, Alice? Ye want me tae escort ye yadder tae th' Chamber o' Mirrors?" he asked, his voice softening even though his brogue remained and his eyes still stormed.[2]

"There is no one else I would rather be with," she confessed.

She felt him lean into her touch briefly before stepping away from her and smoothing his shaking hands over his waistcoat.

"Ah have tae have time tae collect mah wits."

"Take all the Time you need. I will speak to the Queen."

"Alice," he called to her as she began to leave the room.

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry," he lisped.

"So am I."

* * *

[1] The "Oranges and Lemons" is a song from a children's singing game, where the players in pairs file through an arch made by two of the players. The challenge comes at the end:

"Here comes a candle to light you to bed.

Here comes a chopper to chop off your head."

The children forming the arch drop their arms and catch a pair of children, who are "out" and must form an arch next to the original one. The series of arches becomes an increasingly long tunnel that each set of two players have to run faster through to escape. The earliest printed version appeared in _Tommy Thumb's Pretty Song Book_ (c. 1744). Of course, the chopping off of heads would be something the Hatter is particularly prone to having violent fits over.

[2] _yadder_ - far away


	7. Chapter 6

**Hiblisch Day**

"Hiblisch—the day on which Alice leaves again," Mally announced rather proudly to anyone who could hear her, as Alice and the Hatter said their final goodbyes to the group.

Mally's words earned her a flash of the Hatter's yellow eyes, which quickly faded as the Queen took his hands between hers and whispered something in his ear, which was inaudible to Alice.

"Goodbye, Alice," Dee said.

"There is nothing good about it," Dum contradicted.

"I was only saying," Dee insisted.

"Contrariwise, you should have not been saying," Dum pouted.

"Goodbye, boys," Alice finished, bending down to pat both of their round heads in succession.

Alice then turned to Mally and Thackery, but Mally had put her back to her, so she was only left to say her goodbyes to the March Hare. She crouched down and offered a hand to the shaking Hare, who was tugging on one ear.

"Goodbye, Thackery."

"Ye wull miss tea!" he protested, one eye pointing briefly in the opposite direction of the other. "It wull aw gae verra bad," he insisted, patting her hand. "Tollikers, batts, bow-pins, baskets, blocks, and shackles!"[1]

"Tea will go on without me, but please have a cup on my behalf," Alice answered solemnly.

He hiccupped, "Dottled Alice."[2]

She had no idea what the Hare meant, so she nodded kindly and turned to her left. "And Nivens," she said, graciously smiling on the White Rabbit, who was attired in his most regal waistcoat. "Sir McTwisp," she corrected herself. "On account of my returning to Otherland, I must pay my respects and say goodbye," she finished, imitating Nivens' superior manner of speaking.

The White Rabbit bowed, graciously saying, "It has been a pleasure, as always, the Alice."

The Queen had finished speaking privately with the Hatter and released his hands and she now turned her attention on Alice. Her hands floated airily by her shoulders and she leaned in to give Alice matching air kisses for each cheek.

"Decisions, Alice dear," she whispered through a smile, as she completed her second kiss.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

Mirana nodded and addressed the Hatter, "Tarrant Hightopp, Royal Hatter, Leader of the Resistance, and Brave Hero of Underland, I command thee to safely escort my Champion to the Chamber of Mirrors."

Tarrant bowed deeply, sweeping his top hat in front of him. Straightening up, he patted his sheathed claymore sword before offering Alice his arm. Alice was a Champion, but the Hatter was also a Hero: she would certainly be safe in his company. The pair of them began to make their way away from the gates of Marmoreal Castle and the cheers and well wishes of the little crowd.

"Where are we headed, Hatter?" Alice asked, as the noises faded behind them.

"The Chamber is South in Snud."

"Is it a long walk?"

"You wish it to be short?" he lisped.

Alice was not sure how to respond.

"Have you told her yet?" a voice drawled.

Alice turned to look at the Hatter. "Is it?" she asked.

"Chessur," he responded with a frown. "Show yourself you shukm," the Hatter demanded.[3]

"Language, Hatter, language. Surely you know how to act in front of a lady," the Cat purred, appearing before them and rolling onto his back, paws stretching in the air. "You used to, at least. Once upon a time I remember you being rather _skilled_ in all things related to the fairer sex."

The Hatter strode forward, pulling Alice along on his arm, forcing the Cat to dematerialize before being hit by the Hatter's hat.

"Pay no attention to him," Tarrant advised Alice.

"Perhaps he's come to say his goodbyes," Alice offered.

Chessur reappeared before them, trotting along, leaving paw prints in the wet ground. "I thought I'd drop in and make sure you aren't missing your opportunity, Hatter," the Cheshire Cat continued, tossing a grinning glance over his shoulder. "You cannot always be trusted to do the Right Thing, you know."

The Hatter brushed a low growing branch out of her way and slipped his hand into the small of her back, warning her, "Noge," as she ducked beneath the branch.[4]

It seemed as if the Hatter had decided to take no notice of Chessur, and Alice thought perhaps this might be the best plan to prevent the Hatter from having a fit of madness.

"Has he told you, the Alice?" Chessur pressed, disappearing and reappearing beyond the Hatter's reach.

Alice studiously ignored the cat.

Chessur, however, seemed undaunted by his unwilling companions. He continued, "I don't think you _have_ told her. Let me give her a clue: he wrote you poetry while you were Above."

Alice felt the Hatter begin to walk that much faster, so that now she was having some difficulty keeping up with his long legged stride.

Chessur began his recitation, flitting in and out of material being always just beyond their reach:

"If I or she should chance to be  
Involved in this affair,  
He trusts to you to set them free,  
Exactly as we were.

My notion was that you had been  
(Before she had this fit)  
An obstacle that came between  
Him, and ourselves, and it,

Don't let him know she liked them best,  
For this must ever be  
A secret, kept from all the rest,  
Between yourself and me"[5]

As he finished, nothing but his curling tail remained.

"Slurking urpal slackush scrum," the Hatter growled under his breath.[6]

Alice squeezed his arm, trying to calm him with wordless comfort.

"I do not believe, Chessur, that there is any meaning in that poem," she said, addressing the air somewhat breathlessly, as the Hatter continued to hurry her along at a clipped pace.

"That poem is unauthored and unaddressed," Hatter added indignantly.

"Unauthored, hmm?" Chessur hummed, appearing just as a grin. "Haven't lost your sense of humor, have you, Hatter: an unauthored poem? Have you ever heard of such a thing, Alice?"

"I have heard of an anonymous author," Alice offered as a solution to the conundrum.

"I am well versed in the works of Anonymous, and I assure you that this poem cannot be by him. It does not have his tone, his flow, his mastery of language and metaphor. That answer is an _impossibility_," the Cat insisted.

"I have heard of a great many impossible things," Alice affirmed. "I _believe_ in a great many impossible things."

"One of your best qualities," Hatter acknowledged. "Now, go away," he demanded, addressing the grinning smile.

"You're on your best behavior today, aren't you?" Chessur asked, floating dangerously close. "Determined not to say too much and determined not to repeat that _nasty little scene_ you enacted in the castle, hmm?"

The Hatter stopped short, causing Alice to almost trip over her own skirt. He caught her elbow and she looked up into his face: his eyes were flecked with color. Straightening herself up, she glanced around. Chessur seemed to have disappeared. Although, based on his last comment, it was clear that they could never be sure when he Was and when he Was Not.

"Never mind," she said soothingly to the Hatter. "Never mind," she repeatedly gently.

He nodded and offered her his arm once more.

She looked at him, taking silent stock. He did not look as happy and bright as the day she had arrived. The colors of his clothes seemed not as rich, his skin more pale, the marks around his eyes more pronounced, and the flush of his cheeks less healthy and more worrisome. A riddle: a riddle might make him feel better, she considered.

"If you look, you can't see me. If you see me, you cannot see anything else. I can make you walk if you can't. Sometimes I speak the truth, and sometimes I lie. If I lie, I am nearer the truth. What am I?"

He sighed, "A dream."

She shook her head, acknowledging, "You are much too clever."

"My head is full of riddles," he demurred, looking askance at her. "But this is _not_ a dream, Alice. You mustn't go back and begin to think of this as a dream again."

He was right, she realized. She had twice gone back and thought Wonderland or Underland was a dream. She had forgotten how to come back. Forgotten many details, many friends, Hatter—Tarrant. Her stomach gave silent protest.

"There is one riddle that you cannot solve, Tarrant."

"Yes?"

"Why is a raven like a writing desk?" she asked.

"I don't know. Why _is_ a raven like a writing desk?"

She paused, causing him to stop moving forward. She withdrew her arm from his and tilted his hat back slightly so she could better see his eyes under the shade of the forest.

"I haven't the slightest idea," she said, rising up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

She drew back and watched his eyes turn a deep green tinged with flecks of blue. His coloring seemed to brighten somewhat as well.

"I've been slurvish," he said with a shake of his head. "Perfectly slurvish."

"No. No," Alice insisted, bewildered at his response.

"Alice," he said sheepishly.

"Yes, Tarrant?"

"Ah have escorted ye in th' wrong direction," he admitted, sticking his hands in his waistcoat.

"The wrong direction?" Alice parroted back, confused by his admission.

"Aye," he said, his eyes flashing blue. "Ye could a'most mak' me forget whit ah have sworn tae dae."

He looked down at her with such intensity that Alice felt her cheeks flush with color. He was gazing at her lips again, she was almost certain. His hand slipped around hers: it was warm and worn and rough. It dwarfed hers.

"Will you take me in the correct direction?" she asked, willing her voice not to waver.

"Aye," he said reluctantly.

They walked for some time before either spoke again. When the Hatter broke the silence, it was to announce the approach of their destination.

"It will not be long," he said, speaking in a somewhat strangled voice.

"Long until?" she prodded.

"We are at the Chamber. I made us walk a bit too fast. Unless you wanted to get there very quickly and then I have not made us walk quite fast enough. But if it has not been long enough I could make us walk…"

"Tarrant," she said, patting his arm and drawing him back.

"Thank you. I'm fine," he said, swallowing.

Alice could see the wooden chamber emerging behind a clearing in the trees, but now her thoughts were less with returning and more with the mood that had sprung up around them, created out of Looks and Words and Things Unsaid.

"I won't ask you if you're coming back," he said, his words very measured, as if he had practiced them. "I will just remind you that Time is a fickle fellow."

He was right again. Without understanding the whys of it, she knew that while she could be gone two days in Otherland years might pass in Underland. She might be leaving him for a day, a month, a year, or forever. She did not know what was to be the duration of their separation and he did not either: two know nothings standing before a wooden chamber. She took a step towards the door of the chamber, ready to test the knob, when he stopped her.

"Nunz," he said, holding her hand tight.[7]

"Tarrant..."

"Stay."

"_Why_ should I stay?" she asked, wanting desperately for him to say something that made sense, so she could make sense of things herself, but half expecting him to speak of tea parties and hats and rhymes.

"Because..." he began, the color in his eyes switching quickly from green to blue to yellow. He reached up a trembling hand to touch her cheek. "Fur a'm in luve wi' ye."

He loved her? Not just loved her, but was _in love_ with her? Men had said such things to her before, but she had never believed them. It had always been Nonsense in the way of getting what they wanted and appearing to their best advantage. This revelation may have been surprising, but Alice _believed Hatter_. She believed him with every fiber of her being, as the knowledge of his love seeped into every corner of her. He would never say that he loved her and not mean it; not even to get her to stay. She knew he was much too forthright, decent, and honorable to do any such thing.

How had she missed this? She had thought herself Perceptive, and yet, she had missed her dearest friend in either world being _in love with her! _ She wanted to say something—this sort of thing demanded a response—but suddenly her heart had risen up in her throat, in an attempt to get across what it felt, perhaps unaware that it was an organ incapable of speech. She wanted to lecture it: _stay down in your place, heart!_

"Gae 'n' come back tae me, lassie."

She managed to nod, 'yes,' against the palm of his hand.

"Fairfarren, Alice."[8]

…

* * *

[1] Thackery is listing off some of the tools of a Hatter. A tolliker is a wooden tool used to smooth the brim. A batt is a flat oval shape of fur used to make one hat. A bow-pin is a tool used to shape the bow. A basket is a wooden tool used when pressing wet cloth onto the batt. A block is a wooden mold used to shape the crown. A shackle is a curling tool used to roll up, or roll under, the brim edge of a hat.

[2] _dottle_ – in a state of dotage, witless, crazy

[3] _shukm_ — excrement

[4] _noge_ - go low down

[5] "They told me you had been to her..." is a poem by Lewis Carroll appearing in _Adventures in Wonderland_. It is alleged by the court of the King and Queen of Hearts to have been written by the Knave, but it was not addressed to anyone and the knave refused to take credit for it. Alice pronounces it at the time not to have "an atom of meaning in it."

[6] _slurking urpal slackush scrum_ — dirty words of the most foul meaning

[7] _nunz_ — don't go - not now.

[8] fairfarren - farewell, "May you travel far under fair skies"


	8. Chapter 7

**Later that same day…**

"Did you tell her?" a voice asked, waking the Hatter from his stupor in the clearing around the Chamber of Mirrors.

He shook his head, clearing it of the cobwebs.

"Chessur?" he asked, as if he did not know to whom he was speaking.

"Are you standing here stupidly, because you didn't tell her? I explicitly told you to…"

"I told her," the Hatter replied, spinning on his heel and beginning to walk purposely from the clearing in the direction of the Hat House.

There were dozens of hats waiting to be made. The hats would quiet the voices. He had one hat in mind that focusing his energies upon would bring him particular pleasure.

"Hmm…" the Cat pondered, floating alongside the Hatter, "you told her, and she left anyway. I thought you would be half-mad by now if that came to pass."

"I am half mad, but that has nothing to do with Alice. She has her reasons," the Hatter said, schooling his emotions carefully. He reminded himself that unruly as his emotions were, he was the teacher, the master, the trainer, the tutor, the professor, the instructor...

"Has she now?" Chessur pressed, his tail held high and flicking. "What reasons would she have to leave _you_, pray?"

"_She_ _has a family_," the Hatter explained, as he mentally swatted away the smoke and acrid smell of burnt things that threatened to fill his mind. There was no family. None left now. No Hightopps but himself, and he a rather sorry example of the lineage ever since.

"Ah, she threw that in your face then. Rather unkind, don't you think, Hatter? Given the circumstances?"

"Alice is never unkind," he answered quickly, biting his tongue when it threatened to overwhelm him and spout nonsense. "She didn't explicitly say that she was leaving to go back to her family. She didn't have to. I was being slurvish." The Hatter cast a sideways glance at the floating feline. "You should know all about that."

"I take offense at that: I saved your neck, you know. Otherwise you wouldn't have a head with which to say sweet nothings to Alice," Chessur reminded him, rolling through the air languidly.

"Your one moment," the Hatter conceded, "for which I, the Resistance, and the Queen thank you."

The Cheshire Cat grinned before licking a paw. "Do you think she will return to you, Tarrant Hightopp, Royal Hatter to the White Queen?"

"She has always come back before," the Hatter responded brightly, trying to sound more certain than he felt.

"After several years, I suppose she did," the Cheshire Cat acknowledged. "If you don't mind waiting who knows how many years for her return, then I suppose Hiblisch Day will not be recorded as a terrible day after all." He mostly disappeared except for his ears and his tail. "I wonder if you will recognize the Alice if she comes back aged fifty-two?"

The Hatter was not so mad that he could not tell when he was being made out to be a fool. "If ye'r nae cautious, Chessur, A'll knock that smile aff yer flindrikin face," he gritted out, clenching his hands as he continued to march towards his home.[1]

"Love makes you awfully uffish, Hatter," Chessur observed before disappearing altogether from the path.[2]

Yes, it was true, Hatter observed, detachedly. He was a very poor match for Alice. His feelings for her were wrong. They must be. He had known Beautiful Adult Alice since she was Lively Little Alice, and during all of the Time in between he had been an Old Mad Hatter. Never mind that his feelings, which were tied up with his madness, were dangerous. They made _him_ dangerous, when all he wanted was to keep her safe and happy. With him. Always with him. Sitting at the tea table; leaning out the balcony of the Hat House; staring up at the moon; in his arms. His hand flew to his cheek, where her lips had pressed briefly. The spot still tingled with Aliceness. Alice, Alice kissing, Alice touching…

He roughly shook his head, slightly dislodging his hat, so that he had to straighten it. "That wilnae dae," he spoke aloud, chastising himself, "old man." He had forgotten momentarily that it was one thing to love Alice and another to Desire her. It would appear he needed reminding of the chasm that separated him from her. It was more than a rabbit hole.

He whistled to himself, before beginning to recite:

""You are old, Father William," the young man said,  
"And your hair has become very white;  
And yet you incessantly stand on your head—  
Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,  
"I feared it might injure the brain;  
But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,  
Why, I do it again and again."…"[3]

…

The Hatter approached his house, his mind threatening to give in to Memory. Memories of Alice flitted just behind the curtains of his mental theater. On Gaelig Day he had brought Alice to the Hat House. She had admired his work space, admired his work, touched his hands, and offered to treat them. Her soft hands against his, Hatter thought, squinting his eyes shut tight as he pulled the door open.

No Alice here. Alice had gone home.

She had admired the dress he had made for her, but the form now lay bare. She had worn the dress home. Alice had gone home.

She had worn the dress home, because he had soiled her Otherland dress—the one that made it difficult for her to act upon her muchness, as he remembered. The dress had covered her from her neck to her wrists to the tips of her toes. Alice and her muchness had been entombed within that dress. Yet, while draped in an excess of fabric that he would never employ when there were such lovely shoulders and wrists to be shown, he had still thought her very pretty, handsome, winsome, feminine, attractive, and womanly. Those Otherlanders certainly were keen on exaggerating certain aspects of the female form, he reflected.

That Thought left the station, but another arrived in its wake, whistling and screeching loudly on the tracks: where was that dress? The soiled dress that she had discarded in favor of the one he had made for her?

"My bedchamber!" he exclaimed aloud to the walls, who were unlikely to answer, but one never knew, so it would be Rude to never give them the chance.

He strode towards the bedchamber with renewed purpose. Alice had changed out of her spoiled dress Inside while he had tried not to pace Outside the door. He had held up a pewter plate—the only reflective surface handy at the time—and peered at his reflection, hoping that his eyes were not betraying him. But they had: blue, bright betraying blue. How could they not? Alice had been just behind the door, in his bedchamber, removing…

The Hatter shook his head, clearing his muddled mind. That was before. Now Alice was not here. He was alone in his bedchamber, where he had not been since that remembered day.

"Where, where, where," he mused, turning about the room. Where had Alice put her things?

He knew where everything was in the mess of his home, and given enough time, he could place his finger on it. It should not be too hard to find the one thing that had not been here before, he reasoned. Yet, as his eyes scanned the room, he did not see the dress. Perhaps it is hidden on the other side of the bed, he thought, jumping atop the bed and running across the bedcovers. He leapt down to the other side of the bed and bent over. Not here either, he acknowledged.

"Bother!" he grumbled, jumping atop the bed and running across it once more.

Landing with a thump on the wooden floor, he began to walk the edge of the room, examining each crowded surface.

"I am sometimes strong and sometimes weak, but I am nobody's fool. For there is no language that I cannot speak, though I never went to school. What am I?" he loudly asked the empty echoing room. "Excellent! Very good," he congratulated the room. "An echo is correct!"

He reached the wooden crooked shelves where he sometimes stacked his shoes. The shelves were now empty, since acting on a whim he had stacked his shoes outside on the grass several weeks earlier. He had imagined they would like to see the out of doors more often, and not just when he chose to wear a pair. He ran his hands over the worn wood, eyeing up the _should be_ empty shelves, which were decidedly _not_.

Navy blue fabric trimmed in red folded atop white cotton underclothes called to his fingers. They twitched to touch the fabric as they had done when she had slid through his hands, as he had lifted her from the tea table. When one rarely had someone to be proper for, one sometimes forgot elements of propriety, he thought, as his fingers twitched mere inches from the carefully folded fabric. Yet, he knew that he should not have held her so close that day.

He seized the dress first, pulling it from the shelf to hungrily examine the piping, lace, and stitches. Fine work, but not fine enough for Alice, he determined. The red was bright and happy, but it was not bright enough, and the blue was much too somber. It was not Alice Blue. With a start he realized that the little fasteners for the covered buttons were torn. Shoddy work, he frowned. But, no, that was not right. He would have noticed if Alice's dress had been coming apart in the back. Cringing, he realized that she must have had difficulty getting the gown off without someone to assist her. Someone to unbutton this long row of buttons down her neck and back…

He swallowed, overcome with a Sensation he dared not name. Best put this aside, he thought, as he draped the dress over his arm and reached for the white underclothes. His hands trembled. He was a professional, he argued with himself: there was nothing inherently Wrong with his touching women's underclothes. Except these were Alice Underclothes. A giggle escaped from his lips so as to prevent a rush of improper Emotion, as he ran his hands over the first white cotton item. A _tournure_ attached to a petticoat, he realized. Alice had called it a bustle.

He carefully slid the petticoat to the side, uncovering the next item: a corset. Almost immediately he stepped back, letting it slip from his fingers. His brain was foggy with the faint lingering perfume of Alice, but he belatedly became conscious of one thing. It was one thing to hold her dress, but—professional or no—he had no right to touch these things. Especially considering how he felt about her, what he desired. He refolded the dress, replaced it, and patted it reverently. It would be waiting right where she left it if…

He rushed from his bedchamber and approached his work table, pushing aside several bolts of fabric, looking for the blue silk he wanted for the One Particular Hat. The diminutive top hat that he had in mind in that particular shade of blue that reminded him of her. His fingers settled on the fabric. It would look so fetching atop her blond tresses, angled just so. The dress would be waiting for her and he would have a new hat to give her when she came back to him.

Alice had gone home, he thought once more. He did not need a mirror to know his eyes would reflect back the loathsome yellow he despised so much. He grasped a spool of thread and walked his fingers across the table, searching for the shears.

_Alice had gone home_.

The voices were very loud. He would have to drown them out:

""Where are you going to, my pretty maid?  
Where are you going to, my pretty maid?"  
"I'm going a-milking, Sir," she said,  
"Sir," she said, "Sir," she said,  
"I'm going a-milking, Sir," she said.

"Shall I go with you, my pretty maid?"  
"Yes, if you please, kind Sir," she said,  
"Sir," she said, "Sir," she said,  
"Yes, if you please, kind Sir," she said.

"What is your fortune, my pretty maid?"  
"My face is my fortune, Sir," she said,  
"Sir," she said, "Sir," she said,  
"My face is my fortune, Sir," she said."

The Hatter stopped, having sliced through the tip of an un-thimbled finger.

"Drat," he swore. Being a hatter and a digitabulist, he should have been better prepared.[4] It would not do to bleed all over Alice's lovely blue silk. He grabbed a piece of linen and hastily wound it around his throbbing finger. If his madness did not make him so careless, he might not constantly be hacking at his own hands. Or threatening harm to others.

He began again, his voice somewhat strangled in the back of his throat:

""Then I can't marry you, my pretty maid."  
"Nobody asked you, Sir," she said,  
"Sir," she said, "Sir," she said,  
"Nobody asked you, Sir," she said."[5]

Nor would they ever. _Alice had gone HOME_.

* * *

[1] _flindrikin_ — flimsy

[2] _uffish_ – state of mind when the voice is gruffish, the manner roughish, and the temper huffish

[3] Like many poems in Carroll's work, this poem is a parody of what was then a well-known children's poem: Robert Southey's "The Old Man's Comforts and How He Gained Them", originally published in 1799.

[4] digitabulist – a collector of thimbles (Note: How much do I *love* this word!)

[5] "Where Are You Going, My Pretty Maid" is a traditional folk song or nursery rhyme from England. It appeared in _A Baby's Opera_ by Walter Crane in 1877. In certain rural areas of England, to ask a maid if you could go 'milking with her' was akin to a marriage proposal.


	9. Chapter 8

**Furbish Day**

Hatter thought he heard someone whisper in his ear, but that could not be the case, so he continued furiously plying his needle. The voices sometimes played tricks on him: the secret was to ignore them and focus on making his hats. The hats always helped.

"Ow!" he yelped, grabbing his ear.

Something had stabbed him in the ear. The voices, while sometimes urging violence, were not usually so violent themselves.

"Hatter!" a voice squealed.

Pulling his head back, he realized that Mallymkun was standing on his shoulder, wielding a hatpin sword.

"Did ye stick me?" he demanded.

"I had no choice," Mally said, climbing atop his hat.

He looked down at his work table: it was more of a wreck than usual. The hat he was making would never do. He picked it up and heaved it across the room, so that it landed in a pile of other discarded chapeaux.

"You were in your own world," Mally explained.

"Mad, you mean?" the Hatter asked, pushing aside more fabric until he found the remaining scraps of the Alice fabric.

"Yes," Mally admitted. "Can't you open a window, Hatter? It's positively frumious in here!"[1]

"No time for cleaning," the Hatter replied, picking up several loose pins and sticking them in a large purple tomato shaped pin cushion. "Too much to do, you see!"

"That's just it: we don't see you, ever. Thackery is worried. I'm worried."

"About Alice?" the Hatter asked, rubbing the fabric slowly between his rough fingers.

"I could not care less about her," Mally began, but the Hatter caught her off balance when he stood quickly and strode away from his work table, effectively cutting her off. "Take care!" she called from atop the brim of his hat, where she had fallen.

"Always old, sometimes new, never sad, sometimes blue. Never empty, sometimes full, never pushes, always pulls," the Hatter said, moving towards a shelf where he kept a bundle of trim that might work for the hat he was imagining.

Mally scampered around his brim and leaned down so that he could see her whiskered face.

"The moon?" she asked.

"Yes, the moon," he said, lighting on the trim that he was looking for and dropping the rest of the bundle on the ground before moving quickly back towards the work table. The blue fabric caught his eye once more. "Alice and I looked at the moon."

Mally groaned, "Must you always talk about the Alice, Hatter?"

"Whit would ye have me blether aboot, Mally?" he demanded, crumpling the trim in his fist.[2]

"Tea?" she suggested, her nose twitching. "You have not come to Hare House for tea in weeks. I must do all Thackery's dodging and it is wearing me out." Her face disappeared and her legs appeared in his line of sight, dangling down from the brim of his hat. "We used to have such good times, Hatter."

"Did we?"

He remembered any number of not good things. The Jabberwocky; his family dying; his land burning; the Red Queen; Stayne; having to pretend to be more gallymoggers than one actually was; Alice nearly being killed; Alice leaving; Alice leaving _again_.

Alice had gone home: two months ago, eight and one half weeks ago, sixty days ago…

_Those bloody voices!_

"Dae ye mind when Alice was bit a bairn?" he asked Mally, trying to remember happier things, as he smoothed out with a trembling hand the delicate trim he had mindlessly crushed.[3]

Hatter ignored the frustrated sound that Mally made in response.

"Course I do, Hatter. The Alice was young and then the Alice was older and now the Alice is older yet."

"Alice is not old."

"Well, whatever she is, I liked her best as a child," Mally grumbled, "and even then she did not say what she meant or know any stories."

"I liked her always," the Hatter lisped softly.

"Once upon a time you merely liked to _tease_ her," Mally tried. "But the Alice is gone, Hatter. You cannot continue to wait on her endlessly. Come to tea!" she concluded in exasperation.

His Thoughts did not want to turn to tea, they were full of Alice. Perhaps Mally would care to hear a rhyme he was fond of reciting?

"Twas on a merry time,

When Jenny Wren was young,

So neatly as she danced,

And so sweetly as she sang,

Robin Redbreast lost his heart,

He was a gallant bird

He doffed his cap to Jenny Wren,

Requesting to be heard."[4]

"Hatter!" she squealed, scampering back down onto his shoulder. "If you will not presently come to tea, I will take drastic steps."

His eyes settled on the top hat made in the blue Alice fabric. Alice would look so lovely in her hat. His Alice: he had taken to thinking of her as such, even though one voice warned him against it _most vehemently_. His Alice would look so very lovely, so very Alice in her hat that he had made for her. It brought to mind a rhyme: why had he stopped reciting his charming rhyme?

""My dearest Jenny Wren,

If you will but be mine,

You shall dine on cherry pie,

And drink nice currant wine;

I'll dress you like a goldfinch

Or like a peacock gay,

So if you'll have me, Jenny dear,

Let us appoint the day.""

"I warned you!" a voice squealed, seemingly very close to his ear.

But the Hatter knew that could not be right. No matter how real the voices sounded, they were only in his head, and the only way to drown them out was to apply himself to his haberdashery and sing—loudly.

…

This hat would not do either, he admitted dejectedly. The color was all wrong, he thought, irritably throwing the hat in a high arc across the room. As he watched the hat sail through the air, he imagined that he heard knocking. He looked down at the table: was the table making that noise, he wondered? It did not seem to be, but one could never be too sure about these things. He placed his ear to the table: nothingness. Ah, to be silent, he wistfully thought.

"Tarrant Hightopp!" a voice called.

He lifted his ear from the table and knit his ginger brows together in confusion, for the voices did not usually call him by his proper name. They were more often Rude than not.

"Hatter!"

A brief rush of Anxiety cut through his thick fog of madness. The Voice sounded just like…

"Hatter?" the Voice said once more, as it pushed open the door and peeked around the corner with large dark eyes.

The Voice belonged to a Someone not a Something. The Queen's white wavy hair and black eyes, brows, and lips, appeared blinking before him.

"Your Majesty," he said, struggling to stand and nearly falling backward over himself. "Are you the drastic step?" he lisped.

The Queen rounded the door, hands floating aloft. "Drastic step, my dear Hatter?"

He giggled. It was possible that he was not making much sense. Almost anything was possible; even impossible things were possible. The Queen was always good enough to ignore such outbursts of Nonsense, however. It occurred to him that Mally had thought the room frumious, so he hurried to a window, throwing it open with as much gusto as he could muster in his current state. It would not do to have the Queen overcome by mercury fumes.

"Sit, Hatter. You look fatigued."

He strode back to and collapsed into his chair, suddenly feeling that fatigue wash over him like a wave. He wondered how long it had been since he had slept anywhere except on his stool slumped with his head pressed against the wood of the table. There might be a wavy wood grain imprint on his forehead. The thought made him giggle again. Ridiculous Notion, he chastised himself.

He cleared his throat: "I…I am sorry, Your Majesty. I did not think…did not know to expect…" he stuttered and fumbled, trying to excuse himself from whatever discourtesy he was displaying towards the Queen whom he had worked so hard to place back on the throne. She had not been to his house since Before and now it was in quite a State and so was he.

Mirana glided towards him and set one delicate hand on his tense shoulder, speaking kindly, "You did not expect me, so do not trouble yourself."

The Queen looked around before seemingly resigning herself to standing next to her subject, since there were no other chairs or stools to be had. The Hatter would have stood and offered his stool, but he felt as if his legs might not support him.

"I…I have been considering things that begin with the letter 'M,'" he advised her, hoping she would understand why he could not stand.

"Have you now?"

"Morose, miserable, melancholic, manic, muddled, mournful…"

"Hatter," she interrupted.

"I'm fine," he swallowed. "Thank you."

"I have received some troubling news," she said delicately.

"Alice?" he asked, struggling to stand.

He could see by the slight break in her serene composure that something in his eyes had momentarily alarmed her. It would only be worse if she failed to answer him quickly. What was wrong with Alice? What could he do to help her? His Alice, his dear, dear Alice, he inwardly whimpered, wringing his hands.

"No, not Alice. I heard that _you_ were not quite yourself."

He giggled, as he slipped back into his chair. The queen was quite the dissembler. Not himself. What was himself anymore? Who was he?

"You do not see your friends? Have not taken tea?" she prodded, tilting her head.

"I am busy," he answered brusquely.

She looked about the room, "I can see that. But, you have not sent any hats to Marmoreal…for months, and you are the Royal Hatter," she explained, sounding just slightly as if she was scolding him.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," he lisped. "Would you…would you like to hear a riddle?"

"Yes, of course. I should," she said nodding gracefully.

"When I'm used, I'm useless, once offered, soon rejected. In desperation oft expressed, the intended not protected. What am I?"

"Hmm…"the Queen pondered. "I do not know. I give up."

"A poor excuse."

"Ah," she said, her hands, pressing together in a silent clap of approval.

"That is what I have: a poor excuse for being negligent about my Duties," he explained, drifting into a soft lisp.

"My, but you _have_ been busy," she said, floating away from him towards the corner of his work room.

He watched as she approached Alice's dress draped on the dress form. He did not want her to touch it. If she did, he was not sure he could prevent himself from reacting. He clenched his hands beneath the table, just in case.

"Who is this for?" she asked, stopping just short of touching the gown.

He had done his best to remove the stains from the hem without removing the Aliceness from it entirely—no small feat. Her essence was so fleeting and so fragile without her muchness there to give it substance and weight. The weight of her in his arms…

"Ah dinna mak' it. 'twas Alice's."

The Queen turned her back on the gown, sighing. "This is all about Alice. Is it not, Hatter?"

Of course it was about Alice! The Whole of his life was now about Alice.

"Is she comin' back?" he demanded.

"Are you asking about the details of the Oraculum?"

He swept a bolt of fabric from his table. "Ye knaw A'm," he said, as the bolt crashed to the ground.

She shook her head disapprovingly.

"Daes Alice knaw?" he asked, choking back a laugh that threatened to angrily spill forth. "Did ye tell Alice?" Everything was kept from him, because he was a madman. No one would trust a madman with information. Even the kind of information that was vital for his happiness, he inwardly cursed.

She fluttered towards him. "Would you have me tell her the future, Hatter? Would you be happy knowing she made her decision believing that it had already been made for her?"

Was the Queen mad as well? She was speaking Nonsense.

"Yes, Alice inquired after the Oraculum, and no, I did not show it to her. If I had looked at the Oraculum and told her that she would be coming back, do you not think this would have unduly shaped her decision whether or not to come back to Underland?" she asked, speaking to him as if he was a troubled child.

"Whatever brings her back tae me," he mumbled.

"You do not mean that," she said, touching his cheek. "You have lost your spark with Alice gone," she said sadly. "But, if she came back and you could not be sure that she did so entirely of her own accord, that knowledge would drive you mad as well."

It was true: he wanted Alice to _want_ to come home, to him, always.

"Leave her alone and she'll come home," he forcefully whispered, trying to control the anger that was boiling beneath the surface of his skin, threatening to break through.[5]

The Hatter smashed his bandaged hand down on the table. There was a small cracking sound, and he discovered that he had broken a bone button neatly in half with his fist. Curious: one minute, one button, the next, two pieces of uselessness.

His attention drifted back to the Queen, who stood silently waiting for him to speak. He hated the Queen sometimes. Hated her damnable white hair, her black lips, her white skin, her black brows, and the fact that she was here and Alice was not. He hated that she was so often right, when all he wanted to do was make perfectly perfect hats of perfection for Alice to admire and wear so that she might come home. Home to him. Always with him. At whatever cost.

"What will cheer you, dear friend?"

"Naught for usal," he groused.[6]

"Surely there is something. Can I not tempt you to come with me to Marmoreal? Thackery has made some very tasty cherry pies…"

A Whim inspired Hatter to begin to hum and then recite his lovely rhyme:

"Jenny blushed behind her fan  
And thus declared her mind -  
"So let it be to-morrow, Rob,  
I'll take your offer kind;  
Cherry pie is very good,  
And so is currant wine,  
But I will wear my plain brown gown,  
And never dress too fine."

Robin Redbreast got up early,  
All at the break of day,  
He flew to Jenny Wren's house,  
And sang a roundelay;  
He sang of Robin Redbreast,  
And pretty Jenny Wren,  
And when he came unto the end,  
He then began again."

The Hatter felt the cool touch of Mirana's hand once more as he finished his rhyme, but this time he jerked slightly at the sensation. No woman had touched him in many years before Alice came along. No one had wanted to, he supposed, but Alice was not afraid. Alice understood.

He tried to focus his bleary eyes on the Queen. The Queen could have stopped Alice. She could have told her to stay. Or, at very least the Queen might now read the Oraculum for him and put him out of his Misery—one way or the other.

If Alice was not coming home, he had a plan for the Hat House, he thought, his right hand twitching on the tabletop. He knew Misery; they were well acquainted. He had thought there was nothing left in Underland that could happen to him that would drag him out of his familiar set of emotions—for good or for bad. Then Alice had done both: bringing him joy with her arrival and despair with her exit. The loss of Alice would be the final straw, the last thing taken from him before he would break entirely.

"I have already asked so much of you and you have _given_ so much without my ever having to ask," the Queen said with regret without acknowledging his rhyming outburst.

He hoped that his eyes had not betrayed him. Had she read his mind? Read his hateful, horrible, horrendous thoughts about his Queen? Or had he mistakenly spoken aloud? He did not want to feel this way. It was just that up was down and down was up ever since Alice had gone away. He had spent the morning walking on the ceiling, thinking it was the floor. What a sight that would have made for the Alice Homecoming he had planned for in his mind. A madman gone quite mad, indeed.

"She would ne'er hiv me, Ah think. 'n' why should she?" he moaned.

It was a lovely rhyme about two lovely little loving birds, but Alice would not be lured by cherry pies and the promise of gay gowns. Or even hats, even particularly pretty hats in Alice Blue. No, why should she be? He was an Old Mad Hatter.

"Anyone would be lucky to receive such meritorious service," the Queen said appreciatively. "The invitation remains, Hatter. You are always welcome at court. And you must promise me to try to eat more regularly and get some rest. You are quite important to me."

Normally these words of praise would have warmed him, but he could not generate any warmth.

She continued, "I cannot have the Hero of Underland wasting away. Do you understand me, Hatter?"

The Hatter swallowed back a bitter laugh and roughly nodded his head.

"Very well then. I bid you a good day."

He attempted to stand and bow as she floated from the room, but he only managed to knock half the items off the table and nearly lose his hat, slipping as he did on a silky piece of fabric underfoot. Alice Blue fabric, he realized with a start. Bending down, he scooped the fabric up and tidily folded it. It would not do to have Alice Blue creased and crumpled and crushed. Of all fabrics, this one deserved the most care, he rebuked himself.

He would make her embroidered handkerchiefs! Alice Blue embroidered handkerchiefs!

* * *

[1] _frumious_ - filthy with a very bad smell

[2] _blether_ – to talk, babble

[3] _mind_ — remember; _bairn_ — a child of any age

[4] The story of the wedding of Cock Robin and Jenny Wren was commissioned in 1806 by publisher John Harris to precede the already-popular "The Death and Burial of Cock Robin." It appeared in the collection as "The Happy Courtship, Merry Marriage and Picnic Dinner, of Cock Robin and Jenny Wren."

[5] The Hatter misquotes from "Lilttle Bo Peep." The earliest record of this rhyme is from a manuscript dated around 1805, which contains only the first verse:

Little Bo-Peep has lost her sheep,

And can't tell where to find them;

Leave them alone, And they'll come home,

Wagging their tails behind them.

[6] _naught for usal_ - it's no use trying


	10. Chapter 9

**Pilsdash Day**

Mally had been right, and if she was here now she would be still: the house was frumious. There was no Time for cleaning, but he could coach a Breeze inside. He labored to stand, stretching awkwardly and moving towards one of the two front windows. Having thrown the first window open, he moved to the second window. It was stuck. Now he remembered why it was closed to begin with.

"Sticky Stucky Paint," he cursed aloud, rattling the window sash. That's what he got for using paint with 'Sticky Stucky' right in the name.

It came loose with a burst of effort that he dredged up from somewhere inside the heel of his right shoe. Thankfully, it was a sturdy heel capable of that kind of oomph. He pushed the window all the way open. The more Breeze he could get in the workroom, the less tired he might feel. He had no wish to fall asleep again. The last half dozen times he had, it had resulted in fitful examples of sleep, full of nightmarish visions. He stuck his head out the window, closing his eyes to breathe in deeply just to take full advantage of its wakeful properties.

His eyes opened and he quickly ducked his head back in, grabbing the window and pulling it shut quickly. His pulse began to race and the voices began to loudly taunt him. He giggled in an attempt to drown them out. He had thought that closing the window would put an end to the vision, but as he blinked his eyes and looked through the panes of glass, he could still see Her approaching. He reached for the window with shaking hands and shoved it open once more. Open or closed it was the same.

_Alice still. Alice always._

He turned to run for the door and slipped on a tumble of fabric beneath his feet, dropping to one knee. Righting himself, he dashed for the door and yanked it open, running out and nearly falling down the doorsteps.

"Hatter!" His Alice called.

His Alice had never looked so Real.

Skidding on the dewy grass, he struggled to gain purchase. Alice's smile was so bright; Alice's hair so blonde; Alice's hands so soft. He looked down. He knew they were soft, because His Alice was touching him: her hands were in his.

"Alice," he whispered.

"I'm back," she said with a broad smile.

That's what His Alice always said, when she appeared to him like this.

His Alice stood on her tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her lips on his cheek. This was new. He had never been so bold as to imagine His Alice doing such a thing. Although he had a Memory of Alice kissing him very much like this prior to leaving again, he had begun to think that he had imagined it altogether and did not dare imagine it another time. He opened his eyes again, worrying that his vision had gone too far and that His Alice would be gone as punishment. But, she was still there, holding onto his shoulders and looking up expectantly.

It was not Real, but the vision brought him immeasurable, chest bursting Joy. He could not help but celebrate the Unreal. Yes, it always turned out to be the dress form, but never mind that for now, he thought.

"Alice!" he said, lifting her by the waist and spinning her around. "You're back!" he laughed, dancing her around the grass so that her feet swung like the clacker of a bell and did not touch the ground.

Twirling as they moved through the grass, he sang:

"A dis, a dis, a green grass,  
A dis, a dis, a dis,  
Come all you pretty fair maids  
And dance along with us."[1]

His Alice's hands clutched around his neck; the feel and sound of her laugh against his brow; her waist beneath his hands; the weight of her in his arms. It all felt so solidly Real—nothing like the dress form—and it was all so tempting, terribly so, terribly deliciously tempting. Seized by Temptation, the Hatter allowed His Alice to slip down his chest until she was nose to nose with him. And then he kissed her.

At the touch of her lips to his, the imagined vision melted away, leaving only the Real.

He dropped Alice to her feet and took two quick steps backward. This was the Alice; not His Alice. Real Alice, Proper Real Alice, he realized with a shock, and he had just taken a _great liberty_ with her. He covered his face with his hands, not wanting Alice to see the color that he knew must be there in his irises as he recalled the warmth of her lips against his. If he was entirely honest, he would admit that he had wanted to feel them and to taste them for some time. Maybe he had done it purposefully: maybe he had kissed her, knowing in his heart that this was Real and not His Alice. Bad, naughty Hatter.

"Forgive…forgive…" he stuttered with his face cradled in his hands.

She would leave. She would be gravely insulted and leave. Leave him, again. She would have every justification.

He felt Alice's hand grasp his upper arm, tugging his hands from his face as her fingers pressed pleasantly into his flesh through his coat. Frowning, he reproached himself for allowing himself to salaciously savor her touch.

"Hatter," she said firmly, mistakenly thinking that he had slipped into madness.

What she did not know, what he did not want her to know was that he had been seized by a different sort of passion. Her hand skimmed down his arm and wrapped itself once again around his hand, her graceful fingers interlacing with his. It was imperative that he strive to rid himself of these treacherous Thoughts of what he would very much like to do with Real Alice.

"Are you Real?" he asked tremulously.

"Yes, Tarrant," she said reassuringly.

"Because, I have imagined you when you were Not so many times, Alice, dearest," he whispered.

"It is me, I promise you."

Alice and her promises: they occasionally took some time to be completed, but they always were eventually. That was why he could always count on her, plan on her, pin his Hopes on her.

"The hat!" he exclaimed, opening his eyes, as he remembered the most important thing. "I made you a hat!" he shouted, tugging her by her hand towards the house.

"Hatter! Take care," she laughed, tripping behind him.

"Oh!" he stopped, spinning around to see that she was encumbered by her skirts.

They were limiting her muchness again. His gaze travelled up her skirts to take in the rest of her. She was no longer wearing the dress he had made for her. She was buttoned up and nipped in just as she had been the last time she had come to Underland. But her hair was down and wavy, the way he liked it. His eyes threatened to settle on her lips once more. Naughty eyes—always wont to look where they _would_ and not where they _should_.

"Come, Alice, hurry along!" he urged her, trying not to let his gaze linger too long. He tugged her hand lightly and wagged his brows at her. "It's a most Beautiful hat, Alice," he lisped.

His heart was hammering loudly in his chest. Alice might be able to hear it, he imagined. The thought of giving Alice her hat was nearly overwhelming his thinly balanced Sanity. Would she like it, he worried, as he led her through the door and skittered nimbly across the mess that only barely qualified as a floor? He reluctantly let go of her hand only so that he could take up the diminutive Alice Blue silk top hat. He held it aloft, nodding wide-eyed and expectantly. A long silver grey satin ribbon trailed off the hat that was only one fourth the size of his.

"For me? Just as you promised." She bit her lower lip, beaming. "It's perfect," she said, reaching out to take the hat from him. She placed it square upon her head.

"If I may?" he asked, lifting trembling hands to the brim of the tiny hat. She nodded, and he tipped the hat so that it sat at a jaunty angle atop her blonde curls. "Now it's perfect," he said, stepping back to gain a better perspective.

"Thank you, Tarrant."

He had to close his eyes again. Damnable eyes, he cursed, clenching his fists. She looked so charming.

"Tarrant," Alice whispered.

He could not open his eyes. Not when she was whispering his name. That was a part of a vision and a sound he had dared not dream. Yet, there were circumstances when he would very much like to hear her murmuring to him like…

"Tarrant, you do not look well."

He shrugged, attempting to achieve a nonchalant manner and dismiss his wayward thoughts.

"Your hands," she said, seizing them once more. "They are in ruins."

He opened his eyes to see his stained, sliced, and calloused hands pillowed in hers. The contrast painfully demonstrated why he was _not good enough for her_. She must see it too; she would leave again soon. He giggled, trying to silence the voices.

"Do you have a basin of water?" she asked.

He failed to respond, but Alice seemed undeterred by his silence. She let his hands slip and wandered to the back of his house.

"You need to wash your hands regularly. You need to wash your clothes as well—change out of the ones in which you have worked. And keep these windows open for cross ventilation," she lectured good-naturedly, as she struggled with a window.

Alice sometimes struck him as a school mistress—a very pretty school mistress, who could not help being just a little bossy.

"There," she said triumphantly, as the window slid open. "A basin?" she repeated.

Hatter wandered over to where he kept a basin meant for washing. It had not been used in several days, however; an oversight that had left his hands terribly stained. There was a mountain of hats to show for it, but he was not entirely happy with any of them. Not a fair trade—hats for health—but he had erred on the side of his trade for some time now.

"Is there soap?" she asked, coming up behind him.

"Yes," he lisped, reaching for a bar of soap.

Alice grabbed the wash cloth that lay nearby and took the white bar of soap from him. "Let me help," she said firmly, as she dipped the cloth in the water and worked on the bar of soap, creating suds. "Come now, take off your coat and roll up your sleeves," she commanded.

He paused for a moment, wondering whether he should give in to her desire to take care of him and his desire to be taken care of or protest such female management in preservation of his Masculine Dignity. He had not had much to begin with, he conceded, as he slid his jacket off and began to work upon his sleeves.

"If you take better care with washing and ventilation," she said, taking his hands in hers and removing his thimbles and unwrapping several of his bandaged fingers before dipping them in the basin, "it will help with the symptoms of the madness."

She ran the sudsy cloth over his bare hands and he was forced to squeeze his eyes tightly closed yet again. To have a woman care for him in this manner, he could not recall such a thing taking place before, and he did not think this was due to a lapse in Memory. This gesture showed far more than kisses and touches—while all very nice—could. Her hands were warm and the water was cool. Looking down, he watched their hands mix in the basin together more intimately than he had ever had the courage to imagine with His Alice.

_Alice cared._

"Ye seem tae knaw a guid deal aboot Hatters, Alice, dear."

He chanced a sideways glance at her, as her shoulder brushed his. She was focused with great industry on her task, perhaps not noticing the shade of his eyes. That was his hope, at least.

"I had reason to inquire," she answered simply, meeting his gaze. "Your eyes are a beautiful blue, Tarrant," she murmured, her hands stilling against his.

He pulled his hands out of the water basin a little briskly, splashing some water and reaching for a spare piece of linen lying close by so that he could dry his hands. That would not do. It simply would not do to have Alice seeing his very impure feelings coming to the surface, when she was so very Innocent and so very Present.

"You look as if you have not been taking care of yourself," Alice said with a shake of her head, which very nearly dislodged her hat.

He ought to find some attractive decorative hatpins for her, he mused, as he stared at her hat.

"How long have I been gone?" she asked.

She may have noticed that his clothes hung a bit loose. Her absence had been both a physical and mental cause of anguish.

He swallowed, pleading silently with himself not to speak in the brogue. "A few months," he responded with false composure, tossing aside the now dampened piece of cloth.

"I am flummoxed by how Time works between Underland and Otherland. I was only gone a fortnight."

"Ah warned ye," he said with a nod, looking down so as to hide under the brim of his hat. The thought of Alice being gone, of Alice leaving, made a different emotion rise to the surface, and he did not want to frighten her with its physical manifestation.

"I'm very sorry, Tarrant. I know…I know I left with things uncertain between us."

Us? Was there an Us? Had he met this Us or did she really and truly mean Them?

"But, I have come back to you," she said, tilting her head anxiously. "Hatter, are you going to say anything? Are you very mad?"

"Mad? Yes, terribly mad, I'm afraid. It's an unfortunate problem with being a hatter. It's the mercury, you know. Nasty stuff, mercury, but necessary, I'm afraid. We use it in our trade, and hatters therefore have a tendency towards…"

"Tarrant," she interrupted him.

"I'm sorry. I'm fine. Thank you."

"Are you angry with me?" she asked with more grammatical exactness.

"You? No, never, Alice," he assured her. He wanted to reach out to her to reassure her, but he did not trust himself. He might do something improper. He might forget that this was Real Alice and not His Alice. "Whit for did ye come back?" he asked, inwardly cursing his accent's perfidy.

"You gave me one very good reason—that is why."

He pulled at his bowtie, so as to have something to do with his jumpy hands. Otherwise they might reach out for Alice of their own accord.

"Do you still?" she asked.

Did he still? Did he still? _Did he still_? He silently repeated her question so many times to himself that the words lost their meaning altogether.

"Do you still…love me?" she asked a little tremulously.

Suddenly Hatter felt like a Royal Fool as opposed to a right respectable Royal Hatter. One was not supposed to force ladies to take all of the initiative, even independent and strong-willed ladies such as Alice Kingsleigh, who were more than capable of doing so. Alice would think him a Royal Jester if he did not show some muchness very soon. The lass wanted to know if he was True and Faithful: she did not know that Hightopps always were.

He removed his hat and pressed it to his chest, solemnly speaking, "Aye, a luve ye, Alice. Ayeweys."

The corners of her mouth quirked as she playfully clutched his lapels, "Then I am afraid you must take better care of yourself or there will be nothing left of you for me to love in return."

…

The Hatter tramped through the grass, singing to himself:

"Wherever I'm going, and all the day long,

At home and abroad, or alone in a Throng,

I find that my Passion's so lively and strong,

That your Name when I'm silent still runs in my Song."[2]

It had been many long months since he had felt such ease and joy. While one meal and one good scrub of the hands could not undo the wasting effects of the intervening months, he felt himself once more coming to life. This bubbling happiness was just about to spill over out of the top of his hat. Alice had seemed to intimate that she might, perhaps, could love him _if he_ _took care_.

At Alice's urging he was headed to the Hare House for tea. She would have joined him, but she was feeling a bit tired, and while Alice was as lovely as always, Tarrant did notice that she had circles under her eyes that were not the result of mercury. Therefore, he had left her sleeping in his bed, so that she might feel more like herself by the time he returned.

He drew near the Hare House and pulled out his pocket watch to make sure that he was not late. "Perfectly on Time," he announced as he approached the table.

"Hatter!" Mally squealed, climbing atop a teapot so as to see him better.

Thackery went nearly cross-eyed, trying to see down his nose towards the Hatter and finally clapped his hands at his success. "Ah imagined ye 'ere!" he cried out in triumph.

"No, I am not imagined. I am here because Alice sent me."

Mally visibly deflated. "Still gallymoggers," she sighed, climbing down off the teapot.

"This is not another one of my visions," the Hatter assured her, ignoring Thackery's chattering teeth. "Alice came back," he insisted, flipping his coat tails behind him as he took his customary seat at the head of the table.

Thackery looked about the table, searching for something before chucking a teaspoon over the Hatter's head.

"Alice is not _here_," Hatter explained, grabbing a teapot and pouring himself some tea. "But she _is_ in Underland: Alice is abed." It took some effort to maintain his lisp and not slip into a brogue upon his final pronouncement.

"Oh, _is_ she now," a voice cooed interestedly as a fine mist gathered alongside Mally—evidence of the Cheshire Cat materializing. "Whose bed would that be, hmm?"

The Hatter reached for a sugar spoon. "Mine," he said with a swallow.

"Now things are getting interesting. I wish very much that I had popped by earlier," Chessur purred, floating on his side.

"Slithy keeker," Hatter gnashed before turning his attentions to the stirring of the sugar in his tea, instead of the anger that threatened to well up inside of him.[3]

"How _old_ is the Alice now? Ancient?" Mally asked peevishly.

"Old enough, I wager, if she's in his bed," Chessur chuckled.

Hatter stood up, nearly upsetting the table at which he sat. "Watch yer gab, cattie."[4]

"_Nievel!_" Thackery shouted, tossing a teacup at the Cat, who promptly disappeared and reappeared unharmed.[5]

"I will stop coming to tea if I am continually insulted and threatened," Chessur haughtily responded.

"Promise?" Hatter asked, before shaking his head to clear it of the angry voices and taking his seat once more. "Alice is fatigued," he finally explained.

Mally harrumphed at this news, but Hatter disregarded her.

"Worn out, hmm?" Chessur drawled, still enjoying his Impudent Insinuations and forgetting his feigned affront from a moment earlier. "Well now, I'm surprised you would leave her alone, when she's just returned," he offered, taking a partially cracked teacup in one paw.

He had not wanted to, but Alice had insisted. It was difficult to dissuade Alice of Something, as she was a very Determined Creature.

"Alice is the Champion of Underland. She is perfectly Capable of being alone," he asserted. Alice may have used those exact words with him. "And she wanted me to enjoy teatime with my friends," he finished, raising a teacup to the company.

"Perhaps she sent you away, because she did not want you panting outside her door, while she tried to sleep," Mally said with a frown.

Hatter's brows knit together. Was Mally right? Did Alice merely want him away? Did she find him repugnant? She would have good reason to do so. No, she had come back to him. She would not want him gone. The voices were not in agreement, but he did not care to debate with them. He was weary of them, for they had been his sole companions these past weeks.

"You're quite ridiculous, you know," Chessur announced, assessing the Hatter and finding himself in agreement with the Dormouse.

Yes, he was well aware of his Ridiculousness; he did not need his friends to remind him of it. He forced a laugh to relieve some of his unease.

"How long will she stay this time?" Mally asked, feigning innocence.

He had not asked. He had not had the courage to ask. One could never tell whether one would like to hear the answer.

"She always leaves," Mally said with a shrug.

Mally was unfortunately correct, although she was not properly acknowledging Alice's Importance. Alice always had things to do: Not just in Underland as the Champion, but in Otherland as well. Responsibilities—horrid things, he thought spitefully.

"She ayeweys comes back," Hatter gritted out before sipping from his teacup. "Besides, I thought you all would be happy to see me at tea," he finally managed, having swallowed a great quantity of tea to straighten his mind.

Mally's nose twitched and Thackery pulled on both ears. The Cheshire Cat merely closed one eye to better observe him with the lone open one.

"Course we're happy, Hatter," Mally said softly. "But, have you ever considered that it falls on your friends to help you every time the Alice leaves?"

"That wilna be happenin' this time," he said, setting his empty cup down.

"You're sure about that, Hatter?" Chessur asked archly.

"A'm sure." He was not, but he was too happy to consider Otherwise seriously. "Now, I do believe," Hatter began again, having regained mastery of his emotions, "that it is Thackery's unbirthday today."

Mally agreed in spite of herself, "It has been ages since we had a jolly unbirthday party."

"It is yours as well," Hatter said with a smile. "And yours," he added, nodding towards the grinning Chessur.

"_Three hunder saxty-fower!_" Thackery shouted, beaming crookedly.

Hatter considered for a moment: "Yes, that would be true, but we leap this year. Add one, please."[6]

...

* * *

[1] "Green Grass" was a popular singing game from the 1820s to the 1920s. 'A dis, a dis' might derive from the Scots word _adist_ meaning 'on this side' or it might invoke the god, Dis, from whom the Druids were descended, according to the Gauls. Additionally, the green of this song may not be a color, but the old Scottish verb _grene _or _green _meaning 'to long for.'

"A dis, a dis, a green grass,  
A dis, a dis, a dis;  
Come all ye pretty fair maids,  
And dance along with us.  
For we are going a-roving,  
A-roving o'er the land;  
We'll take this pretty fair maid,  
We'll take her by the hand."

[2] This tune was sung in _The Brave Irishman, or Captain O'Blunder_, a comedy that Thomas Sheridan (1719-1788) wrote while he was an undergraduate at Trinity College. The final verse is:

"On that happy Day when I make you my Bride,

With a swinging long Sword, how I'll strut and I'll stride!

In a Coach and six Horses with my Honey I'll ride,

As before you I walk to the Church by your side."

[3] _slithy_ – combination of 'slimy' and 'lithe_'; keeker_ – a peeping Tom

[4] _gab_ — mouth, manner of speech

[5] _nievel_ – to punch, to pummel

[6] _Alice in Wonderland_ was published in 1865 and Alice was age seven. Therefore, while (I believe) the movie was set in 1865, I have placed Alice in 1877 at the time of her nineteenth birthday. Three years have passed between Frabjous Day and her return to Underland, so it would be 1880, which was a leap year. In a leap year, the Mad Hatter and his friends are able to celebrate 365 unbirthdays instead of the usual 364.


	11. Chapter 10

**Later that same day…**

The Hatter returned to the Hat House and entered expecting to see Alice buzzing about the flowers outside like a pretty little bee or busying herself about the workroom, but she was not outside and she was not anywhere to be seen in the workroom either. The door to his bedchamber was shut, but he wondered at her still being asleep. He had left her for over two hours. It was not yet dusk, but if Alice was going to be able to sleep tonight, it would be best that she not sleep much longer, Tarrant considered. Yet, he was loath to disturb her, so he waited quietly on his stool for Sleepy Alice to awaken on her own.

Time can go by very slowly when one is compelled to be silent and constantly look at one's pocket watch. Not even butter would do the trick and smooth the way for Time to advance apace. Eventually an hour had passed, however, and Tarrant nervously began to pace outside her door. Just as Mally had suggested he would, he thought with chagrin. Finally, he stopped in front of the door, clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to decide whether or not to rap on the door.

He cleared his throat, frowning and raising his fist to the door. He counted silently to himself, waiting to see if Alice would wake before he counted down from ten to zero. She did not. He knocked softly on the door. He waited a beat, but there was silence. He rapped again and softly called her name through the door. Still there was silence.

"Alice," he called more insistently, knocking with force.

When she still did not respond, he began to panic. Perhaps he should not have agreed to leave her behind while he went to tea. Perhaps Alice had been harmed. Perhaps she could not answer him, because…

"She does not rouse," the knob informed him.

"That much is obvious," he muttered.

He grabbed the knob and pulled the door open, training his eyes on the ground in case Alice was not decent. One does not simply burst into ladies' rooms, after all.

"Alice?" he said gently, as he stood in the doorway.

He chanced a look up, when she did not immediately respond. She was beneath the bed sheets, clothed in his billowing white nightshirt with her wavy blonde hair splayed across his pillow and her flushed cheek turned to the wall. Alice was in his bed. His heart beat rapidly, and he pinched the inside of wrist to stop the rush of Thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him.

"'Tis getting late, lassie," he said, tilting his head and waiting to see her brown eyes open.

Her head lolled on the pillow, but she still did not wake. Something was _not right_. The Hatter strode towards his bed and leaned down over Alice, touching the back of his hand to her forehead. She was warm, very warm.

"Dear one, wake up, luve," he urged her, stroking her cheek with a trembling hand.

Her eyes finally fluttered open, but they were glassy with fever.

"Alice, why is a raven like a writing desk?" he whispered.

"Hatter," she exhaled, licking her lips. She attempted to rise up on her arms, but failing, she slipped back into the bed sheets. "Where?" she mumbled.

"Shh…" he whispered, wiping her brow. "Ye'r here wi' me. A'm here noo. Dae ye nae feel weel?"

She drew a deep breath and then grimaced. "Your eyes," she finally responded, trying to focus on his gaze.

"'Tis awricht. A'm juist worried aboot ye, laddie."[1]

Her eyes closed again, and he pressed his hand to hers, where it lay feverishly griping the sheets.

"I'm sorry…"she began weakly, "for taking your shirt."

He could not address the pilfering of his nightshirt at this moment without risking her seeing his eyes turn blue. So, he studiously ignored her apology.

"Dae ye need watter? Tea? Broth? Whit would mak' ye feel better?"

Alice mumbled something that he could not understand. He stroked his thumb over her knuckles, but she did not seem to register either his question or his touch. How could he leave Alice three hours ago merely feeling weary and now she be so ill? Was this some sort of Otherlander sickness? He had no idea how to help her if so. Would she be even worse in another three hours? Could she… He would not allow himself to think It. If he did, then he surely would be overcome by the madness, and she needed him to be as sane as possible.

A moment carefully composed sane thought produced a plan of action: he had to get her to the Queen. The Queen had potions, which she could use to make Alice better, best, fully right again.

Tarant pulled back the sheets, exposing Alice's pale legs to the air, and she shivered against the mattress tick. Swallowing, he slipped an arm behind her back and hooked his hand under her arm.

"A'm gaein tae pick ye up," he told her, although she did not seem to notice his actions. "We sall gae tae Marmoreal, Alice," he continued, as he slipped his other arm under her knees and lifted her from the bed. Her head fell against his chest. "Th' Queen will knaw whit tae dae."

…

Breathing heavily, the Hatter still refused to hand over Alice to the Knight, who was offering to take her from him.

"Th' Queen," he managed to pant out, readjusting his slipping grip on Alice's bare legs. He knew it was not possible, but she seemed to have grown progressively heavier as he made his way to the castle. "Ah hiv tae see th' Queen."

"Oh, goodness!" a voice exclaimed from behind him.

He chanced a look over his shoulder and saw Nivens wringing his hands.

"Th' Queen," he repeated.

"Goodness! Call for the Queen!" Nivens demanded of the Knight. "Is the Champion dead?" he whispered.

"Na," he said, his knees beginning to buckle. That was the Word he could not ponder.

"You will drop her, Hatter, which would be _entirely_ unacceptable. You must let someone take her."

There was no way he was handing her over to anyone. Instead, he leaned his shoulder into the wall, shoring himself up.

"What is wrong with the Champion?" Nivens asked, approaching more closely with a twitching nose.

"Ah dinna knaw. Th' Queen will knaw whit tae dae." That assurance was the only thing that was keeping him from breaking apart into sixteen hundred pieces.[2]

He was beginning to see stars. When had he gone back outside? And why was Time messing around again? Time was such a fickle fellow.

"Hatter?" a voice called to him.

He lifted his head off the wall, trying to focus on the voice before him.

"Hatter, you've done well."

It was the Queen, he realized with relief.

"Will you let us take her?" she asked, her hands floating near Alice. "So we can get her to bed and I might have a look at her?"

"A'll carry her," he said, shrugging off the wall.

"Can you?" Mirana asked, her face trying to assume a look of hopefulness.

"Aye."

The Queen motioned for him to follow her, and he stumbled forward. The Knight who had originally wanted to take Alice from him was also following; and he was following so closely, seemingly indicating that Alice would be better off if he would only hand her over. He would never give her up. Alice needed him.

"This way. In here," the Queen said, ushering him in a bedchamber. "Lay her down here," she said indicating the bed with a wave of her hand.

While he did not have much energy left, he summoned up what he did have to carefully lay her on the downy white bed, so that she would not be jostled by the movement. Despite his best efforts, her head slipped from his chest and rolled on the pillow, making her moan slightly.

"How long has she been like this?" Mirana asked, coming to stand at his shoulder and lean down over the sick girl.

Hatter lifted his hat off his head and gripped it tightly in front of himself, watching as Mirana brushed sweat dampened blonde hair from Alice's face. A panicked voice inside of him was screaming, 'Don't touch her!' but he knew that he had brought Alice here so that the Queen would help. Sometimes the voices confused him.

"Uh…" he murmured. "A few hours." He shifted on his feet, turning his hat nervously in his hands. "Th' lassie is feverish."

"Yes, she is," the Queen nodded. "Alice?" Mirana said, trying to get Alice to rouse from her fitful sleep.

"She wilna wake up, Yer Majesty. Ah tried."

Mirana ran her hands over the hem of the nightshirt, which did not cover as much of Alice's legs as he would have liked, carrying her as he had through the open air. Normally he would not have objected to a private display of Alice legs, Alice legs poking out from Hatter nightshirts. He cleared his throat, worrying that the Queen would _misunderstand_ Alice's attire. That she might think there had been some _impropriety_ on his part. Perhaps he should have wrapped her up before he embarked for the palace—for propriety and warmth

"Dang, daft, deleerit," he muttered, cursing his insanity.[3]

The Queen paused in her examination of Alice to place a hand on his shoulder, "Alice will need you to be well, when she wakes, my dear Hatter. You did well to bring her here, but you need to rest now."

"Ye can mend her?" he asked, swallowing around the Fear that was threatening to choke him.

"She has just come back from Otherland?" Mirana asked, caressing Alice's flushed cheek with the back of her index finger.

"Earlier th'day."[4]

The Queen sighed, "I'm afraid that she may have an Otherland illness."

He had just found her and now he was going to lose her. Found and Lost. _ALICE!_ The voices were shrieking in his head. "Then ye canna mend her?"

Mirana's hands hovered at her shoulders as she pondered for a minute. "I'll send Nivens Above to fetch a medical book to help me with my diagnosis, and then I'll brew up the recommended potion."

She seemed certain of her Abilities and that helped quiet the voices.

"But sit, Hatter. Sit," she said, motioning towards a chair some ten paces away from the bed.

It was further than he would have liked from Alice, but he was so very tired and perhaps the Queen was right. Alice might need him to be rested. The Queen might need to call on his services. He was, after all, only a few quick steps away.

* * *

[1] _awricht_ – all right (Sc)

[2] Afternoon tea can be taken between three and five or roughly, sixteen hundred hours, a number of great lasting significance for the Hatter.

[3] _daft_ – mentally deranged (Sc); _deleerit_ – delirious (Sc)

[4] _the day _or _th'day_ – today (Sc)


	12. Chapter 11

**Uliealchen Day**

Someone was attempting to wake him, he grasped foggily. He tipped his hat back, so that he could see. The Queen stood before him flanked by two Knights. She bent forward, her palms suspended before her.

"Hatter, we need you to leave this room."

He blinked his eyes in the dark of the room with the curtains drawn tight. He shifted so that he could see around the group before him. Alice was still lying in bed with her hair tumbled about her in a halo of gold.

"Have you…" he cleared his throat, which was dry like cotton. "Have you given her a potion?"

"No, Hatter." The Queen placed a hand on her shoulder, "Step outside the room with me, please."

If Alice was not yet cured, why would he leave the room?

"Sirs," she said, standing upright.

The Knights, as if acting in unison, reached forward and grabbed him by the shoulders, hauling him upright.

"Ho! Whit's this?" he shouted, as they dragged him towards the door, kicking helplessly.

"Quiet, Hatter, you'll disturb Alice," Mirana advised him.

Torn between preventing them from taking him from the room and not wanting to wake Alice, Hatter settled for thrashing somewhat violently but silently. Once they had succeeded in getting him through the door, the Queen pressed him down onto a bench and the Knights stood before Alice's door, spears drawn ominously.

"There, now we can talk without waking her, hmm?" she said sweetly with a twirl of her fingers.

Tarrant pressed his hat down further on his head, clenching his teeth. "Whit's wrong wi' her? Did Nivens bring ye back a medical book?"

"Yes, he did," Mirana responded, sitting beside him on the bench. "I've determined a diagnosis."

"An'?" he urged her to continue, his fingers digging into his thighs.

The Queen stared forward, her head tilting slightly. "It's the grippe."[1]

"Th' grippe?" He did not like the sound of that: it did not sound good. Grippe, grim, grime, gloom, glum, grief…

"According to the book Nivens brought me, the grippe has certain characteristics: fever, pain, catarrh, and physical and mental depression. Grippe can attack with great suddenness, sometimes seizing one with a severe chill that is then followed by pain in the head, back, and limbs, or soreness of the muscles and fever. The eyes become reddened and sensitive to light…" she drifted off, not finishing, but turning to watch him fidget and twist. "You do not need all the particulars, perhaps."

"How come ye hivna gied her a potion yet?" he mumbled, digging his fingers deeper into his thighs so as to prevent them from flying up to tear at his hair.

"The treatments that are suggested," she said, steepling her fingertips together, "are a liquid diet: milk, soup, whiskey, rum."

"Tea?" he asked, swallowing.

"Yes, tea, I imagine. But, there _is no potion_, Hatter."

Tarrant hung his head, pressing his heels into his eyes until he saw stars. Outside yet again. In and out without having to ever move one's feet.

He groaned. No cure? Death. He was _losing_ Alice.

"I've sunk beneath the summer's sun,

And trembled in the blast;

But my pilgrimage is nearly done,

The weary conflict's past;

And when the green sod wraps my grave,

Oh, his heart, his heart is broken

For the love of Alice Gray.

Oh my heart, my heat is breaking,

For the love of Alice Gray."[2]

He rocked back and forth, feeling Mirana's soft touch on his shoulder during his ever increasingly loud recitation.

"Hatter!" she said, calling him back, but the voices were deafening. "Don't speak of graves, Hatter, please."

He stood up, throwing off her light grip. "Hiv thaim open that door," he demanded, gesturing towards the Knights who were blocking the door. "Hiv thaim open 'at door or A'll git ma sword."

The Queen stood, pressing her lips together before forcing a smile: "I cannot let you in there."

"How come nae?" he asked, fretfully adjusting his hat.

The Queen raised one finger to her lips, contemplating the room before explaining, "The doctors Above do not know what causes the grippe, but it is contagious."

"Smittish?" he asked, wringing his hands. "Ah dinna care! A'm awantin' tae bade wi' Alice."[3]

"I cannot have an epidemic breaking out in Underland, Hatter," she said with a half-smile.

"Ah...A'v awready bin exposed. Sending me awa' noo wilna dae any guid." He might be mad, but surely she would see the reason in that. He was desperate for her to see how Necessary it was that he _be with Alice_.

"That's why I need you to go to your chamber and stay there, Hatter, where you cannot expose anyone else. And in case you haven't caught it, I need you to not go back into Alice's chamber."

"Wha's gaun tae tak' care o' her?"[4] He wanted to be with her; care for her; wipe her brow; give her tea. How could the Queen ask him to go away? Did the Queen not see that what she was asking of him was impossible?

"I will," she answered cheerily.

"Ye? Ye'll endanger _yersel'_ bit nae let _me_ be wi' th' lassie?"

"Oh, don't trouble yourself about that, my dear Hatter," she said placing her hand on his back and attempting to usher him down the hallway. "Nothing can happen to me."

He attempted to dig his heels in, but the attempt might have been more successful on something other than the slick surface of polished white marble currently beneath his boot heels. He could have immobilized the Queen quite easily, but then, he also would have to Hurt her, and those pesky guards were standing by ready to Hurt him. _I dinna want tae hurt the Queen_, he sternly reminded himself.

"Howfur dae ye knaw ye'll nae catch it?" he asked, crossing his hands across his chest and tucking his head, stopping his struggle for a moment. If the Queen knew that she would be well, did she also know whether Alice would be well?

"I know, and I know that Alice would not want you to risk yourself."

He did not like anyone pretending to know what Alice would do or want, because Alice was so very complicated and uniquely Alice, but he decided not to voice his irritation with the Queen, since Alice's life was in her hands. He very much needed Alice alive.

He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath to clear out the voices and rage before he began, "I cannot do without her. Take care of her?"

The Queen pressed one hand over her heart, vowing, "I promise, I will, as you have taken care of me, dear Hatter."

…

Hatter lay in his bedchamber staring up at the ceiling and slowly turning his hat round as it was propped on his chest. Separated as he was from his hat making, he was left alone with the torment of the voices, which were very active. They had all manner of hateful Things to say to him regarding Alice. Things he could hardly bear to hear. Alice was sick, very sick. She was laying abed.

_Eppie Marly's turned sae fine,_

_She'll no gang out to herd the swine,_

_But lies in her bed till eight or nine,_

_And winna come down the stairs to dine.__**[5]**_

Alice had come back to him, so he had imagined that he need not put into motion all of the mad plans he had for the Hat House or himself should Alice fail to return. Given her current state of health, however, those plans might still very much be of use, he found. For, he had no wish to be in a world without Alice. Not anymore. It did not matter if she loved him in return or not, he only wanted to be near her: to be a part of her universe, circling within her gravitational force.

No one had brought word of Alice, and he knew not how much Time had passed since he had been shuttled off. What he instinctively knew was the current color of his eyes: he did not need a looking glass for that bit of information. After pacing frantically and nearly tearing his hair out, he had collapsed on the floor to stew and fret in immobility.

"Hatter," a voice called to him, sounding rather smaller than his voices usually did. "Hatter," the voice called again.

Then he felt something tug on his sleeve and he chanced a look down. Mallymkun stared up at him with a sullen look.

"You're not supposed to be in here," he said, placing his hat over his face. "I'm contagious," he informed her, the sound of his voice echoing within the hat. "Or rather, I might be. I could be. Having been with Alice for some hours, given that she is ill and contagious, it is quite possible…"

"Hatter!" Mally shouted.

He lifted the brim of his hat up an inch so that he could see her once more. "I'm fine. Thank you." Far less than fine, truthfully, but if he gave voice to what he was actually feeling, it would overpower him altogether.

"Have you brought word of Alice?" he inquired evenly, before a giggle escaped due to the effort of maintaining his false composure.

"No, and I had to sneak past a guard just so that I could see you. A small size has its benefits, you know. The Alice could never sneak under a door to see you," she said, climbing up his arm and onto his chest. "Such great care is being taken to lock the both of you up. What is wrong with the Alice?"

Hatter let his arm fall to his side with a solid thump, taking the hat with it. "The grippe."

"The grippe?" Mally repeated back to him inquisitively.

"Some loathsome Otherlander illness, the Queen tells me. Contagious, unknown cause, dreadful symptoms, no potions to be had," he sighed.

He was trying very hard to concentrate on not thinking about It, but It kept creeping before his vision in all its horrifying Blackness. His mind was fairly full to brim with trying not to let It in. Alice, dearest Alice was ill and could…

"They try to beat me, they try in vain. And when I win, I end the pain," he moaned.[6]

"I won't solve that riddle, Hatter," Mally obstinately replied.

"Aye. Dinna," he agreed. He had no wish to actually hear It voiced. The madness had simply allowed It to slip out for just a moment.

Mally wiggled her nose, considering something silently. "I'm sorry to hear that the Alice is sick, Hatter," she finally concluded.

He had come to the conclusion that Mally did not much care for Alice or did not much care for _his_ caring for Alice, so he was somewhat puzzled by her comment. But then, he was in a general state of Disarray, so nothing much made sense to him at the moment. His senses, such as they were, had left him entirely.

"I know you quite…dote on her," Mally said, looking down at her feet, "and we all…we all want you to be happy," she finished.

Hatter experienced a burning in his chest and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly. He felt Mally balance herself carefully as he drew a deep breath that threatened to dislodge her from her perch.

"I shan't be happy until Alice is well," he admitted, scrubbing his face with the hand not engaged in holding his hat.

Mally grabbed her tail, letting it slide through her little paws. "She is in the best of hands," she offered hopefully, "and she is _the_ _Champion_."

"Yes, she is," the Hatter agreed. "She is not some weak, fainting, frivolous example of the sex."

"She killed the Jabberwocky," Mally said, patting her own sword with her paw, "and tamed the Bandersnatch…surely she can conquer the grippe."

Tarrant picked his hat up, placing it over his eyes yet again and speaking into the hat, "I'm sure," he agreed with more certainty than he felt.

...

**Madersnare Day**

"A'v hud enough o' this. Let me thro'!" the Hatter bellowed at the Knight posted at Alice's chamber door. "Is th' Queen wi' her?" he asked, fingering his sheathed claymore sword.

The Knight just barely shook his head in the negative.

"It haes bin four days at least, an' Ah wilna staund by ony langer. Let me in!" he demanded, pulling his sword halfway from its scabbard.

This was the third time in as many days as Hatter had made such a scene, usually to be dragged away by summoned Knights, but it was just he and the posted guard at this moment and he intended on making the most of his powers of _persuasion_.

Shaking his fist an inch from the Knight's face, Hatter grinned maniacally. "Ye would mak' an ill-faured mimsy hat, ye would. Bit that wouldna stop me."[7]

With a shake of the head, the Knight moved his spear aside and took one step to the left. Sometimes it paid to be a madman. Impediment removed, the Hatter strode past the Knight and drew open the door. The room was still darkened with the curtains drawn shut, but he could see Alice propped against a plethora of pillows, and at the sound of his entrance her eyes opened. Hatter kicked the door shut and nearly tripped over himself hurrying to her bedside.

He took her face in his hands. "You're awake," he softly lisped.

"Hello, Tarrant," she said, smiling weakly.

He did not want to let her go; he wanted to go on touching her smooth cheeks that no longer burned with fever forever. _Her lips!_ He could not help but look at her lips, and he was seized by an almost insatiable desire to kiss her—to press his lips to hers as he had outside of the Hat House, when he had thought her to be His Alice. She was Alive. Alice was here and Real and Alive.

Alice might be Alive, but he must not think those Thoughts, he reminded himself: kissing and touching and…

"Alice," he said with wonder, running his thumbs over her cheeks. "Are ye feelin' better, luve?"

She nodded, replying softly, "Not quite myself, but much better."

"I suggested to the Queen that she might give you tea. Tea does wonderful things, you know, for the body, soul, and senses."

She smiled indulgently at him and then frowned, saying, "I do not think you are supposed to be in here, Hatter, dear. The Queen says that I am contagious."

Her voice sounded weak, and his hands slipped from her cheeks as his stomach twisted into nervous knots. "Please dinna ask me tae lea. A'v bin wantin' tae be wi' ye fur days."

He cringed at his pleading tone, but Alice did not seem to mind. She patted the bed, wordlessly asking him to sit. Hatter hesitated for one moment: he had brought Alice to Marmoreal clothed only in his nightshirt and now he had forced his way inside her chamber, where he expressly had been told _not_ to go. Now was he to sit with her in her bed? He could not devote much energy to worrying about what others might think of him, but he had nagging doubts about the Wisdom of not being concerned on Alice's behalf. Three hundred and sixty notions on how he might respond to her silent request circled through his head and once complete had brought him back to the same place still unmoving and undecided.[8]

He attempted to fidget with his bowtie, but he discovered that it was untied. He was appearing before Alice not properly dressed. Undressed, beds, nightclothes…

"Hatter?" she said, biting her lower lip. "Is everything all right?"

He nodded, deciding it best not to disappoint her. He carefully balanced himself on the edge of the bed, as he spoke, "Yes. Everything is all right now that you are feeling better."

"I don't remember," she said, inclining back further into the pillows and briefly closing her eyes, "but the Queen tells me that you brought me here, carried me from your house," she finished, her eyes opening again and settling on his hand, which was inches away from hers.

Did Alice want him to take her hand, he wondered? Knowing what Alice Wanted was something he endeavored to achieve, but which was not always easy. He covered her hand with his, and she did not flinch. Perhaps he had guessed correctly.

"I want to thank you," she continued.

He had endlessly replayed those heated hours, when he had carried Alice, unconscious and occasionally mumbling incoherently with her brow inclined on his chest. It was best that she did not remember: he did not want her to ever remember pain or suffering. He squeezed her hand.

"Ye wur dreadfully unweel, lassie," he said softly, looking down at their clasped hands. Now, however, she was on the mend. His heart swelled with pride: Alice could defeat anything. Bandersnatches, Jabberwockies, and Otherlander Illnesses could not stop Alice.

"I owe you my life then, I think."

He inwardly shook himself. _Get a hold of yourself, old man. Do not Gaze so on your hand and Alice's_.

"You do not owe me anything. The Queen did it all."

"Come now, you won't take any credit?" she teased, shifting beneath the sheets.

"Credit? Well now," he pondered. "I'm afraid, Alice, I must admit that I merely…did what I could to keep you with me." He laughed silently, tramping down the eddy of emotions that rose up at the thought of Alice leaving. It made him want to hold her to his chest and not let her go for any reason. "Ah knaw 'tis slurvish o' me, bit ah canna hiv ye lea me. Nae for Otherland, nae for onything."

The accent again—the madness was so close to the surface and it did not take much to tip the balance. He held his breath, waiting for Alice to say that she would indeed be leaving by and by, despite his Wishes otherwise. _If wishes were horses, beggars would ride_.[9] She had every right to go, after all. What did she care about the desires of an old Mad Hatter?

"It would be selfish, Hatter, if it was only what _you_ wanted. But it's what I want as well. I want to be in Underland. I'm not leaving."

His head popped up with eyes gone wide. Was Alice delirious? "What was that?" he lisped.

"I said: I'm not leaving. I intend to stay."

Tarrant had all he could do not to scoop her up and dance her around the room. His mind was crowded with any number of pleasant Thoughts that wished to gain the upper hand.

He ran his thumb over her knuckles and raised her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss there. "Cannot be bought, cannot be sold, even if it's made of gold," he said, smiling against her smooth hand.

"Mmm…" Alice pondered.

He looked up over her hand to watch her face as she figured through the riddle, as he knew she would. So clever, Alice was.

"A heart," she responded.

"Yes: you have made mine very happy," he confessed gently.

Alice's muchness must have rubbed off a bit on him, because he did not know where those words had come from. After all, he was attempting not to confuse Alice with his Inappropriate Feelings for her. The lass knew that he loved her and that was enough.

"This is where I want to be. I…" she paused as her free hand fluttered up to her head, "I made all the necessary arrangements, said my goodbyes...Oh," she murmured.

"Whit's wrong?" he asked, releasing her hand and stretching up a trembling hand to caress her temple with his be-thimbled fingers.

"My head is a muddle. It feels like someone is playing lawn tennis inside or croquet with large mallets in there."

"Sounds dreadful," he said with a frown. "I am well acquainted with such ailments, as you might imagine," he said, before bending forward to press a kiss to her forehead. He spoke against her smooth brow, "I should let you rest."

But, she surprised him by grasping the lapels of his coat and softly holding him in place. Such an awful amount of muchness, Alice possessed. He pressed his forehead against hers, sharing the same air as her. Alice Air—the most precious air in all of Underland. The bread-and-butterflies became very active, fluttering quickly within his stomach: it was a most exhilarating feeling.

"Thank you," she whispered so close to him that he could almost feel her lips move. "I'll see that you get _your reward_…when I am better."

Tarrant thought he detected a teasing note in her tone. His eyes darted back and forth, trying to measure her meaning. Alice could not know what she was about: pressed so close to him and speaking in this throaty manner.

"Since, I believe you're too afraid to take it now," she added.

"Afraid?" he nearly squeaked, still mere millimeters from her.

"Of contagion?" she asked.

"Oh!" he exclaimed softly. "Oh!" he repeated, as it dawned on him what Alice meant.

He stood upright, disentangling himself from Alice. His heart raced, running away with itself for unknown destinations. He would have to chastise it at a later date for its impudence, insolence, and impertinence.

Alice wanted a kiss. Or rather, she wanted to give him a kiss. Perhaps one of the lovely kisses she had pressed to his cheek. _Oh! _ How he would love that, for he was collecting Memories of all those kisses in a special box.

"As for that," he said, sticking his hands in his waistcoat, "I am not afraid of you. But, I would rather take my reward when I can be assured that you are quite well. Fully Alice, Picture of Health and Consciousness."

"You think I am not in my right mind?" she asked, raising her brows in mock seriousness.

"I am no judge of mindset, but I would rather that you…not be in bed," he struggled to finish.

_Not in bed_. Not with the madness always lurking around the corner and waiting to make him do Bad Things.

"Your eyes," Alice murmured, turning her cheek into the cool of the pillow. "I like when they're blue."

"Hmm…" Hatter pondered, looking up at the ceiling and wondering where his nightshirt had gone, since Alice was now dressed in a feminine nightshirt with lacy cuffs. "I find it rather embarrassing," he admitted.

Alice extended her hand to him, and linking two fingers in his she stroked his palm.

"Please, don't," she said.

* * *

[1] The grippe is influenza.

[2] This tune is from _The Songs of England_ (ca. 1879). The music is by Mrs. P. Millard and the words are by William Mee. The first two verses are:

"She's all my fancy painted her,

She's lovely, she's divine,

But her heart it is another's,

She never can be mine;

Yet lov'd I as man never lov'd,

A love without decay,

Oh! my heart, my heart is breaking

For the love of Alice Gray!

_Chorus_

Her dark brown hair is braided

O'er a brow of spotless white;

Her soft blue eye now languishes,

Now flashes with delight;

Her hair is braided not for me,

The eye is turned away;

Yet my heart, my heart is breaking

For the love of Alice Gray."

[3] _smittish _— contagious (Sc); _bade_ — stay, remain (Sc)

[4] _wha_ – who (Sc); _wha's_ – who is (Sc)

[5] "Eppie Marley" is an anti-Jacobite nursery rhyme from the eighteenth century recited by Scottish Highlanders. The rhyme was later changed to "Elsie Marley".

"Saw ye Eppie Marly, honey,

The woman that sells the barley, honey?

She's lost her pocket and a' her money,

Wi' following Jacobite Charlie, honey.

Eppie Marly's turned sae fine,

She'll no gang out to herd the swine,

But lies in her bed till eight or nine,

And winna come down the stairs to dine."

[6] The answer is: death.

[7] _ill-faured_ – ill favored, ugly (Sc); _mimsy_ – combination of 'flimsy' and and 'miserable'

[8] 360˚ in a circle.

[9] The first version of this rhyme with close to the modern wording was in James Kelly's _Scottish Proverbs, Collected and Arranged_ in 1721:

"If wishes were horses

Beggars would ride:

If turnips were watches

I would wear one by my side."


	13. Chapter 12

**Slathring Day**

"I should like to help," Alice asserted, having heard during teatime of Thackery's plan to bake apple pies with the apples that had just ripened in Marmoreal's orchards.

Not that it was a Plan per se, but when Thackery had begun shouting about pie and tossing rolling pins, everyone else had worked out the Details.

"Thackery does not like to bake with anyone," Hatter said apologetically. "It involves a lot of throwing of pots and pans and spices and flour…well, it can be quite perilous actually."

"Oh, I did not mean to help bake. I would be useless in the kitchen, I'm afraid, but I could help pick apples."

Tarrant frowned, thinking of how to dissuade Alice from attempting such an arrangement. He would rather that Alice not act on her muchness quite so soon after recovering from the grippe. "There are many other pleasant things we might do instead," he offered.

"Like?" she asked, folding her hands in front of her.

"Think up riddles, sing songs, trim hats…"

"We have done all of those things today," she reminded him.

"We can do them again." 'We' sounded so charming: Alice and He, We, doing things—together.

"I would soon grow tired of those things if I spent every day thus employed, I'm afraid."

Hatter drew up short, blinking. Grow tired of hats and songs and riddles? What a Notion. But then, he did not wish her to find Underland or her life here tiresome. There were also any number of games he could teach her that might help occupy her Time.

"I must have some direction, some employment," she continued. "We might be of some use, picking apples for Thackery, and I think it might be amusing. Would you not care to join me, dear Hatter?"

He knew very well that she was manipulating him in the pleasant way that females manipulated men. He would rather she not exert herself so soon after being sick, but he would also rather be with her than anywhere else. Alice was aware of this and was using this knowledge to her advantage, and she had referred to 'we' again: it was intoxicating, as intoxicating as half a pint of his best whiskey.

"You are being very _naughty_," he said, cocking a brow at her.

"So what if I am. Come, let us fetch a ladder."

He sighed, following at her heels like an obedient puppy. There was no hope for it: he was sunk.

As they walked through the courtyard towards the potting shed, where they hoped to procure a ladder, Alice skipped over the stones, demonstrating how improved she felt.

"Do you not see that I am entirely feeling like myself again," she insisted, twirling once for emphasis.

"Yes, I quite see that. However, after an hour of exertion, you might feel differently." He tried to sound severe, but in his head he heard music when Alice smiled and twirled. Pretty Alice with her Pretty Alice Melody.

"You are as bad as an old maid, Hatter," Alice scolded, pulling open the door to the shed and peering through the darkness.

"There," he said, pointing over her shoulder. "I see it there in the corner."

He shouldered past her and stepped gingerly over abandoned clay pots and metal watering cans until he reached the ladder, which he lifted up and tucked beneath his arm. When he turned around, Alice was picking out a large basket.

"To the orchard," Alice announced gaily, looping her arm through the handle.

"Lead the way, my lady," he said, bending so as to not hit his head on the low door as he exited with the ladder. He hummed to himself: "There were comfits in the cabin and apples in the hold."[1]

"You do see that I must have something useful to do to occupy my time, do you not?" Alice asked, walking nimbly alongside of him so as to avoid being knocked over by the lengthy ladder. "As you have with your hats."

"You intend on becoming an Apple Picker then?" he teased.

"No," she smirked. "No, I hope to begin working on a project that will utilize the skills I developed in Otherland."

He stepped down off the courtyard into the thick turf.

"Will you not ask me what those skills are?" she asked.

"What skills are those?" he dutifully inquired.

But, she returned his question with another question: "Why do you not ask me about Otherland? Why I went back? What I did while I was gone? What the world Above is like? Are you not curious?"

He adjusted his grip on the ladder, attempting to waste some Time. It was not that he was not curious: he had endless curiosity about all things Alice. It was just that he had not been sure whether it was information she wanted to share or information he might actually want to hear.

"I don't ask you," he said, casting a glance her way, "because I spent a good deal of time wanting you to leave Otherland and come back to Underland. I've told you I'm slurvish."

She patted his shoulder. "Then that's the best kind of selfishness, Tarrant: to be missed and wanted can give me no cause to complain."

"But, we can address each of these interesting questions in turn," he said, propping the ladder against a fully laden apple tree, "while we employ ourselves. We can talk of many things: of shoes—and ships—and sealing-wax—of cabbages—and kings—and why the sea is boiling hot—and whether…"[2]

"Hatter," Alice said gently, as she set her basket on the ground.

"I'm fine. Thank you."

Alice began to reach for the apples that were not too high, biting her lower lip in concentration. He was momentarily distracted by her white teeth dimpling her lip. Alice was a _treasure_ beyond _measure_. Something he would not mind exploring at his _leisure_. He giggled: he had made a rhyme!

He sang to himself faintly, climbing the ladder:

"This lass so neat, with smiles so sweet

Has won my right good will

I'd crowns resign to call thee mine

Sweet lass of The Lass of Richmond Hill Hill."[3]

He could see her eyeing him from the ground. He felt content enough that he might be able to broach these subjects that normally left him filled with Fear.

"Why _did_ you go back, Alice?" he lisped, twisting a red apple to free it from the branch to which it clung.

"When I fell through the rabbit hole from Otherland, I was attending my engagement party," she stated evenly, as she deposited several apples from her skirt into the basket.

Tarrant dropped the apple he held in his hands to the ground with a thud, because he had to grip the rung of the ladder tightly so that he did not windmill backward. Alice was engaged. Engaged to whom? Certainly not to him. He was mad. No young lady would ever think to consider him, let alone Alice, who was all things wonderful…

"Hatter?" she called him back. "Ezel," she said proudly at her usage of Outlandish, as she pointed up at a perfect specimen above his head.[4]

He came unfrozen and obliged her by picking the apple. _Alice had spoken in his language_. She raised her hand to take the apple from him, her fingers brushing his. How he wanted that hand to be his, but apparently some other fellow had been there first. The bread-and-butterflies gave unhappy protest in his stomach.

"Hamish was a terrible bore. Not at all the sort of person I wanted to be married to. And I did _not_ love him."

'Poor Hamish,' Hatter thought, laughing in triumph at the other man's tiresomeness that made him unsuitable for Alice. Alice did not love Hamish—_did not!_

She looked up at him, her brow creased in confusion at his outburst.

"Excuse me," he mumbled.

She shrugged, as she said, "But, I owed him an answer anyway. So, I went back to refuse Hamish."

Tarrant handed her another apple. Alice did not only go back to say, 'No,' to Hamish, although he was happy beyond measure that, 'no,' had been her answer. He was aware that she had Other Reasons as well. "And for your family," he added.

"I have a mother and sister. I do not talk about them, because," she paused, shining an apple on her skirt before taking a bite. "Oh, Hatter," she said, offering him the same apple, "you must try this."

He took it and indulged in an equally large and juicy bite. It was almost as if they had kissed, sharing this apple, he considered. He took a second bite before handing it back to her, entranced by her lips wrapping around the apple, her pink tongue snaking out to retrieve the stray drop left behind on her full lower lip. Bad Hatter, he chastised himself, blinking in hopes of clearing the blue from his eyes.

Alice was editing herself. Writing out the things that she thought might be unpleasant to him. By his not asking these questions, he may have encouraged her to edit her Life Story.

"You do not speak of them, because I have lost my family," he finished for her, turning back to the task at hand and reaching for another apple to pick.

The Memory of Horunvendush Day was enough to clear his eyes of the blue he knew must have colored them.

Alice nodded in agreement, her face frowning slightly.

"Ye needna be sae pernicketie on ma account," he said, taking a moment to quiet the inner voices before beginning again.[5] "I knew why you had to go back and family is the best reason there is."

Alice nodded, brushing off her skirts and moving around the tree to find other low hanging apples. "True enough: I had more than one reason to return Above."

Hatter tried to imagine Alice's mother and sister. "Do you favor your mother, Alice?" he asked, reaching for another apple.

"Yes, I think so: I after Mother and Margaret after Father. My sister is very beautiful."

"So are you," Tarrant said, his mouth turning up in a broad grin.

She did not respond to his compliment. Alice was so Innocent of her charms. Very charming that Innocence, Hatter thought, giggling quietly.

"My mother was not always so tolerant of my _eccentricities_, and I was not happy being a useless girl. Killing the Jabberwocky and meeting all of you gave me the courage to say, 'No,' to Hamish and go to work for my Hamish's father's company."

If killing the Jabberwocky had given her the courage to turn down Hamish's proposal of marriage, he would have to send a Battenberg cake as a thank you to Frabjous Day.[6]

"Business?" Hatter asked, climbing down from the ladder and moving it over several feet to access unpicked fruit.

It was getting warm and he shrugged off his jacket, rolling up his sleeves.

"I helped expand trade routes to distant lands." She paused for a moment before saying in a slightly lower register, "And I was rather good at it."

It did not surprise him in the least that Alice would be good at trade. Alice was surely quite good at everything. She was the Alice, after all: Champion of Underland, traveler between Otherland and Underland, and holder of his Heart.

"It is highly irregular in Otherland for women to be involved in such things, but Hamish's father was rather progressive on this point."

While he could hear her voice quite clearly, he could only see her black shoes and blue skirts peeking out from underneath the lower branches of the tree. As he climbed back up the ladder, she disappeared from sight altogether.

"I saw things that were nearly as strange and wonderful as the things one can find here in Underland."

"Talking flowers and animals in waistcoats?" he asked, noting some of the things Alice found odd Below.

"No, but there were temples and palaces and people who looked very different from me and spoke many languages. Things for sale that would dazzle your senses. Many different customs and manners of dress. And beautiful vistas."

Her voice filled with wonderment as she spoke. He wanted to be happy that she had found pleasure in these Things, but his slurvish nature feared that Alice loved these Things more than she loved Underland. So much so that despite her words to the contrary, she would return to Otherland once more. That despite all the care he had been taking, she would never, could never come to love him more than she did the world Above.

"I would have stayed in China longer, but famine came to an end in India, and that drew Lord Ascot's attention back to that region for the time being."[7]

Longer? Alice had been planning on staying away longer? Worrisome, worrisome.

"I think I might employ some of this accumulated knowledge on behalf of the Queen if she will let me."

He had to climb back down the ladder, his arms being laden with apples and not having Alice nearby to hand them to. Depositing them in the basket he walked around the tree to find Alice. She smiled beatifically up at him. She spoke of foreign lands, but she smiled at him, here Below.

"Do you think she might allow me to conduct trade on her behalf?"

The sun shone and reflected in her golden tresses. Hatter took a piece in his hand and intertwined it with his fingers, letting it slip through them like silk.

"Aye, ah think she would be happy tae hiv ye serve her."

Alice held an apple between them, looking down on it intently. "I could be very happy here if I thought I had a purpose and was not just…hiding from the pretensions of Otherland that leave me cold."

He placed his hand on the back of Alice's head and pulled her to his chest. He quivered as she slipped her arms around his waist, where he could feel the apple she clasped pressing into the small of his back.

"A'm wantin' ye tae be happy 'ere, laddie," he said, placing a kiss on the crown of her head.

"I want you to be happy too, Tarrant," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder.

His heart swelled. Kind, gentle Alice. He wanted to tell her that she made him happy, but he felt constrained by the strength of his Feelings.

"Will you tell me about your family?" she asked softly.

He closed his eyes, seeing flames when he wanted to recall friendly faces—the faces of his family, his friends, and his neighbors. He was not strong enough to speak about it: he did not think he could trust himself.

"Na th'day, luve," he said, his voice sounding deep and resonant.

"But someday."

"Aye," he agreed. Someday he wanted to share everything with her, and that was frightening. There were parts of him that he was uncertain were worth sharing.

"Hamish did not understand me," she said, turning her head and speaking into his chest.

Hamish again, he thought, his arms stiffening slightly.

"Not like you do," she teased, rubbing the tip of her nose against the fabric of his waistcoat.

He ran his hand down the length of her back, trying to memorize the feel of her in his arms.

The sudden sound of a throat being cleared caused him to let loose of Alice and she quickly responded by jumping back a decent distance away from him. Another throat was cleared and Hatter straightened his bowtie. Where had the Tweedles come from, he thought irritably?

"Excuse us," Dee said.

"Begging your pardon," Dum added.

"We hate to interrupt."

"Nohow. Interruption was necessary."

"We was sent by the Queen."

"Contrariwise, the Queen sent us."

"But that's saying the same."

"But the saying is different."

"Thank you, boys," Alice interrupted.

"What does the Queen need?" Hatter asked, plastering on a fake smile with the aid of a healthy dose of Pretend. He very much resented having their Moment be interrupted.

"Apples."

"The Queen doesn't need apples," Dum contradicted.

"Does so."

"It's Thackery that's wanting."

"She asks on account of Thackery's wanting."

"He's mad from waiting."

"Nohow. Thackery were already mad."

"Well, we're almost finished," Alice said, gesturing towards the large basket that was now almost full to the brim.

"Didn't seem like you was picking apples," Dum said, pointing at both Alice and Hatter in turn and waddling over to the basket to peer in.

Hatter cleared his throat. Impertinent comments would not be welcome. He tugged on his waistcoat to provide his anxious hands with some useful activity.

"Otherwise occupied you was," Dee agreed, also coming forward to examine the basket.

"You can carry these back for us," Alice offered. "I'm sure the Queen would be very happy that you helped."

The boys eagerly nodded in accord, but immediately fell to fighting over which of them would carry the handle.

"I'll carry it."

"No, I will!"

"Share," Tarrant said, picking up the basket and pushing it towards them. "Share," he insisted again, grinning from ear to ear.

The boys wrinkled their noses, finding sharing disagreeable, but they reluctantly took the basket from Hatter. Turning, they began to waddle back through the orchard with the basket swaying between them.

Tarrant sighed noisily, as he reached for his coat.

"It is hard to have any privacy here," Alice said.

"Privacy," he said, his voice coming out a little high. What could an Innocent young woman like Alice want privacy for, he wondered?

Alice smiled, saying lightly, "We shouldn't be unchaperoned, you know."

He tugged at his bowtie, which suddenly felt very tight and was making it difficult to breathe. "Dae we need a chaperone?" What could they potentially do that would require the preventative services of a chaperone?

Alice slipped her arms through his, smirking, "I don't know, Hatter, but I think we might."

…

"I am sorry I rushed you this afternoon," the Queen said, as she and Alice strolled through the halls after tea. "Thackery was making a great mess of the kitchen, waiting for his apples."

"We had already finished," Alice assured her.

"I'm glad to hear that, for the Tweedles seemed to be under the impression that they had _interrupted_ you and the Hatter," the Queen explained, maintaining her serene composure.

Alice felt herself begin to blush, and such feminine weakness was not typical for her. Nevertheless, she had begun to feel herself given over to such tendencies once she returned to Underland. It all related to Tarrant and the strange feelings she entertained for him, which she had finally seriously contemplated while she was Above.

"We were discussing things at the time," she began, attempting not to stutter, "about my future in Underland."

"Ah," Mirana said with a bright smile and sidelong glance that could almost be called Conspiratorial. "He has made you an offer?"

Alice's heart skipped a beat. Very intemperate heart—not beating as bidden, she scolded it.

"I…I beg your pardon, Your Majesty?" Alice managed.

The Queen's hands clasped together and she floated to a stop. Alice paused as well, feeling her cheeks ablaze. What had she done to make the Queen suspect such a thing?

"Forgive me, Alice. I only thought…" she trailed off, shrugging delicately as her hands floated back to their usual lofty position.

"Tarrant and I were speaking about how I might make myself of use here," Alice said, smiling thinly.

"Of use?" the Queen asked, beginning to walk noiselessly through the halls once more.

"Yes, some purpose or employment. I wanted his opinion."

"And what did he think?"

"He thought I ought to speak to you about my idea."

"Go ahead, Alice," the Queen responded, floating through a door and waving to Alice to follow her. "I always welcome your suggestions," she said, slowly lowering herself onto a chair.

Alice sat opposite her and spread her hands across her lap, composing herself as she tried to crowd out the thoughts regarding the Queen's monumental Misunderstanding.

"I propose a trading company be formed in Underland to serve your Majesty."

Mirana thoughtfully tilted her head. "A trading company, hmm?"

"I worked for a company in Otherland: a _trading_ company," Alice explained. "I cannot produce any definitive proof of this of course, but I was rather good at what I did, Your Majesty."

"I have no doubt that you were, Alice. What is trade when one has slain the Jabberwocky?"

"Well, it is a rather different sort of endeavor," Alice hedged. Both required muchness to begin, perhaps, but she had never had to raise a sword on her travels Above.

"Certainly," Mirana responded with a dismissive wave, "but this is what you want to do in Underland?" she asked, gesturing airily. "To conduct trade?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"I feel I must point out that money is not particularly important in Underland. We have everything we need here," the Queen explained a little apologetically.

"Enough worm fat, horse fly urine, or buttered fingers? Surely there are ingredients, for example, that could be procured more easily elsewhere. I could trade for such things."

Mirana pressed a finger to her bottom lip, thinking for a moment. "One can always obtain wishful thinking and the like, but…buttered fingers _are_ a delicate manner."

Alice could only imagine.

"Of course, they would need to be cruelty-free."

Alice blanched. How could buttered fingers _ever_ be cruelty-free?

"From people who…no longer require their digits," Mirana explained euphemistically with a mindless whirl of her own fingers.

"Oh!" Alice nodded, "Yes, I could see to it that they did not come from live sources."

"You seem to have thought this through," the Queen observed, folding her hands in her lap.

"I have. I spent a good deal of time thinking on it at home."

"Is this why you came back? To establish a trading a company?" the Queen asked, one brow arched delicately. Her tone seemed to indicate that she suspected otherwise.

"Oh…as to that…" Alice could think of nothing to say in response.

In deciding whether or not to return to Underland, the question of what she would do to make herself of use did enter into her consideration, but the reason she wanted to return was something she would rather not say aloud; not yet, and not to the Queen. There was someone else she wanted to tell first.

"No one _expects_ you to do anything, Alice. You can spend your days here however you see fit."

Alice could see that this was meant to be reassuring, but it had quite the opposite effect. "No one _expected_ me to do anything Above either, except to marry. I would rather do other things with my life, thank you. I would never be satisfied to merely sit at home."

Mirana's eyes grew quite rounded. "Well, now. Is this a view you have shared with anyone else, dear Alice? Your being _quite against marriage?_"

Alice shook her head, "You misunderstand me. I just don't think finding a gentleman to marry and place a roof over one's head should be the sole ambition of life."

"Not if the roof is unwieldy," the Queen agreed with a nod. "But if it is a pleasant type of roof?"

Alice's brows knit together. "If the gentleman is pleasant, do you mean?"

"Yes, perhaps I do," the Queen responded brightly.

"I…I believe we have wandered off topic, Your Majesty."

"Indeed," Mirana said, coming forward to extend her hand to Alice. "Well, my dear, I would be very happy to receive your services in trade. I am sure you will perform the task admirably, as you did as my Champion."

"And that is all?" Alice asked, expecting more discussion, to have to make more of a case for herself, as she had often been forced to do Above.

"Were you expecting something else?" the Queen asked, looking as if she was afraid of disappointing Alice.

"No…"Alice smiled, sincerely this time.

"You had me at buttered fingers, my dear," the Queen confessed.

* * *

[1] "I saw a ship a-sailing" appears in _The Baby's Bouquet, A Fresh Bunch of Rhymes and Tunes_ by Walter Crane (1878). A comfit comes from the Middle English word _confit_ meaning a confection of any kind of fruit, root, or seed preserved with sugar and dried. "There were comfits in the cabin" is an old equivalent of candy or sweets.

[2] "The Walrus and the Carpenter" is a poem that appeared in _Through the Looking-Glass_. The poem is recited by Tweedledum and Tweedledee to Alice.

[3] _The Lass of Richmond Hill_ was written by James Hook, an English composer, and was published circa 1790. The words are by Leonard McNally. The song was also popular in America during the 1790s. The words were written in honor of Miss Janson of Richmond Hill, Leybourne, Yorkshire, who was engaged to Leonard McNally. They were married January 16, 1787.

[4] _ezel_ - high, go up

[5] _pernicketie_ – fastidious (Sc)

[6] Battenberg cake is a light sponge cake which, when cut in cross section, displays a distinctive two-by-two check pattern alternately colored pink and yellow. The cake is covered in marzipan. It is commonly served at teatime. The origin of the name is not clear, but one theory claims that the cake was created in honor of the marriage in 1884 of Queen Victoria's granddaughter to Prince Louis of Battenberg, with the four squares representing the four Battenberg princes: Louis, Alexander, Henry and Francis Joseph.

[7] The Great Famine of 1876-78 affected southern India for two years and eventually spread north into the Punjab. Just in the British areas 5.25 to 5.5 million people died during the famine. This renewed questions in Britain on how best to provide India with relief and protection.


	14. Chapter 13

**Devonshorum Day**

Alice knocked at the door to Hatter's workroom in the palace.

"Come in," a voice called out.

She peeked around the door and saw Hatter employed at his trade. His eyes flashed green and a smile dawned on his face as she entered the room. She could not remember anyone else ever seeming so happy to see her when she walked into a room. It was extremely flattering, and to her surprise, she found herself feeling the same way about him each time he entered a room—very novel, she mused.

"Hello, Alice," he lisped, holding up a needle and looking through its eye at her.

"Hello, Tarrant," she said, approaching his worktable.

"I have a riddle for you," he announced, plying his needle.

"Go ahead," she said, resting her hands on the other side of the table.

"I have but one eye, and that without sight,  
Yet it helps me, whatever I do;  
I am sharp without wits, without senses I'm bright,  
The fortune of some, and of some the delight,  
And I doubt not I'm useful to you."[1]

"You've given the answer away," she said, lifting a pincushion up and turning it before her.

"I believe you are right," he said happily, as he knotted his thread and bit it off.

Alice pulled a decorative hatpin from the pincushion and threaded it through her gown's neckline.

"A needle," she answered the undoubtedly solved riddle.

"Careful with that pin, love," he said, pushing a finished hat her way. "You don't have any thimbles to save your fingers from its wayward prick."

"I can always borrow one of yours," she said, chasing his hand with hers as he sat back in his chair.

He allowed her to catch his hand, and she lingered over the thimble on his middle finger before straightening up.

"Will you come join us, Hatter?" she asked.

"Is it teatime?" he asked, pulling his pocket watch from his waistcoat to examine the Time.

"No, but I thought I might pry you away from your work nonetheless. We're playing a game outside."

"A game, hmm?" he considered, crossing his arms across his chest.

She picked up the hat he had finished and examined it. "Who is this for?" she asked, stroking the blue veil.

Hatter placed his thimbled index finger to his lips, as if he was thinking. "A young lady of impeccable taste and muchness. Who do you think I had in mind?" he responded.

Alice gave a nervous little laugh, lifting the hat to her head. "I don't know, but how does it suit me?" she teased.

His eyes grew slightly darker and he paused. "Very pretty, as always."

She held out her hand to him and he took it. "Come, Hatter. It is too beautiful a day to be spent in here. I insist that you join us."

He stood, sighing dramatically, "If you insist, my lady."

Alice led Tarrant down to the garden where a spirited game of Blind Man's Bluff was being played.[2] They happily joined the chaotic throng. Thackery was currently blindfolded and having very little luck locating anyone due to his madness. Alice watched with interest as Hatter circled closer and closer to his friend without much effort to evade the Hare's wild gyrations. In fact, as Thackery whirled past Hatter, he reached out to let Thackery brush his jacket with his paw.

"Ho, ho!" Thackery shouted in triumph.

"You must guess who," Dee breathlessly reminded Thackery.

"Guess you must," Dum called out in agreement.

Thackery patted the Hatter, and he crouched down to assist in the Hare's blind perusal of his person. Alice smiled to herself, when she realized that Hatter wanted Thackery to catch him and successfully identify who he was.

"Hat!" Thackery announced, when he felt the Hatter's tall top hat.

"Well done," Hatter announced, grabbing the edge of the royal purple satin sash that was tied around Thackery's eyes and pinning down one ear and giving it a tug.

"Wait!" Mallymkun protested. "He said, 'Hat,' not 'Hatter.'"

"No, I distinctly heard 'Hatter,'" Alice said, jumping into the debate.

"No one asked you," Mally grumbled.

But, Thackery had already run off amongst the hedgerows, so it seemed a moot point to all involved. Hatter held out the sash before his face, waggling his brows. Hatter was to be it.

"You all better scatter fast," he urged the group, as he tied the sash behind his head.

Alice, however, did not run as instructed: she stayed close by as Tarrant began to wander, hands extended in front of him like a sleepwalker groping the air.

"Over here," she called softly to him, and he turned, orienting on her.

She laughed, running past him to his left. He turned again, following the sound of her laughter.

"Here!" she said, laughing as she ducked between the hedgerows. "Don't trip," she instructed, running backwards as he followed her, his arms brushing the branches of the hedges.

"Hatter," she teased, slowing down so he could catch up somewhat. "I'm right in front of you. Can't you find me?"

"_You_ _best run, Alice_," Hatter purred, swinging his arms within a foot of her.

"You would never catch me then," she laughed, crouching down so that his arms swept over her head harmlessly.

"Do you want to be caught?" he inquired, looking blindly towards the ground, upon hearing her laugh.

"What will you do with me if I am caught, Blind Mouse? Cut off my tail?" she asked, dragging her hands noisily through the leaves of the hedgerows.[3]

"_I'm_ the cat, _you're_ the mouse," Tarrant corrected in a voice verging on a growl.

Alice would have responded to his assertion, but she stumbled backwards, falling unceremoniously on her rear end. Tarrant, hearing the thump, raised his blindfold above one eye and bent over to lift her from the grass. Hauling her upright, he set her on her feet.

"Cheat," she whispered, pulling the sash up off his eyes as he held her about her waist.

He looked her up and down, his eyes changing between green and blue quickly. His head tilted as he noticed something; he moved a trembling hand to dust off her lower arm, which had some loose grass affixed to it.

"Are ye a'richt?" he asked, his one hand still clinging to her waist.

She rose up to press a kiss to his cheek with the palms of her hands flat against his chest. His hand instantly tightened on her waist, making her suck in her breath.

"You let Thackery catch you," she whispered in his ear, gripping his lapels to steady herself.

"'twas na fair: he didna hiv a chance at sic a sport," he answered, his voice thick and deep.

She ran a thumb over his cheek and watched his eyes settled into a dark blue. "You're always the first to offer help," Alice said, letting her index finger sweep over his lower lip, "no matter the cost."

"Th' cost wisna sae dear," he said, his lips moving beneath her light touch.

Brave, generous, playful, kind, and attentive, Alice thought, silently cataloguing some of Tarrant's amiable qualities. His _exceedingly lovable_ qualities, she amended.

"Tarrant," she said, her hand drifting back to his chest.

He followed her movements intently, seemingly lost to the world around them and oblivious to her words.

"Tarrant, I…"

His blue eyes finally drifted back to focus on hers.

"I love you," she said firmly.

Hatter closed his eyes as her hands slipped from his chest. Alice took two steps back and then turned, skipping away through the hedgerows.

"Alice! Come back 'ere!" he shouted after her.

Continuing to hurry away, Alice called back over her shoulder: "Cheat!"

…

Tarrant did not catch her. No, he made a dash for one of the Tweedles after emerging blindfolded from the hedgerows, where he and Alice had been…

Alice shook her head. What had she been thinking? She had not been thinking, surely. Never before in her life had she teased and flirted and acted in such a Questionable manner. There had never been anyone with whom she desired to do these things. Desire—the word alone sounded foreign to Alice, and she was certain she was not supposed to have any. Her mother would be shocked. If she had been present, she would have pulled Alice right from the garden by her ear if necessary. Standing in his embrace, whispering in his ear, kissing his cheek, teasing, suggesting…

He had avoided her throughout the rest of the game. It had become so painfully obvious that he was keeping away from her that Alice had excused herself, claiming to be fatigued.

Of course he was avoiding her: she was playing at games. Not just garden games, but Romantic games. Having never before entertained the sort of feelings she had for Tarrant and which he professed for her, Alice was playing with him as if he was a shiny new toy, trying out her feminine wiles and powers of persuasion. Or at very least, she feared that must be how it looked to Tarrant.

It struck her, as she hurried back to the castle that she was a Grown Woman and Tarrant was a Grown Man. Why had this not occurred to her before? Sitting at her looking glass in England, considering her decision and investigating herself, Alice had concluded that she _loved_ Hatter. Alice had not considered what _loving a man_ truly meant, however. Somehow she had imagined they would forever sit at tea, think of riddles and rhymes, and play games in the afternoon, as always, as if they would stand still, unchanging.

_I am such a child._

Her stomach flipped and flopped, and for once she knew for certain that this sensation had nothing to do with hunger or bubblefrothal or anything but the Hatter and her _terribly naughty behavior_. Tarrant was not a toy and not to be toyed with. He deserved much more than that.

She felt ashamed of herself, and she felt heat steal over her chest and face when Tarrant entered the dining room. He did not come to sit beside her at the table in his usual place. He bowed to the Queen and nodded at Alice without meeting her eye, and afterward he sat across the table from her and busied himself with napkin fluffing, water glass inspection, cutlery adjustments, and candle gazing. She both feared and longed for him to look up. _Look up, dearest Hatter_. _Look at me!_

The twisting in her stomach, flushing of her skin, hammering of her heart, and wanton wish for his hands to clasp her about the waist once more left her confused. Was this what it felt like to be a Woman? She could not be sure, because no one had ever sat her down to tell her what to expect. Alice's innocence had been carefully preserved even while she was travelling abroad. Her ignorance of all things Male compounded her innocence of what it was to be Female or what it was to be Man and Woman. The only desires her mother had instilled in her were to be affectionate to her family and to one day desire motherhood.

Man and Woman and Motherhood—these things were all related, but it made her flush crimson to ponder, as she stared into her soup, how these things actually _worked_. No one had ever told her, and she had never asked. Perhaps she could have asked her mother or Margaret, but there had never been any Interest. Now they were beyond her asking. She silently worried that since she had failed to learn to adhere to Propriety or demonstrate proper submission to Authority, that she might also be a failure in the other mysterious things required of a Woman.

Some of the lessons her mother had attempted to instill in her flooded her memory.

_Remember that, valuable as is the gift of speech, silence is often more valuable._

_Learn to speak in a gentle tone of voice._

_Learn to say kind and pleasant things when opportunity offers._

_Learn to govern yourself and to be patient._

_Learn to deny yourself and prefer others'._

_Do not be in haste to seat yourself; one appears fully as well and talks better, standing for a few moments._

_Do not meddle with, or stare at the articles in the room._

_Do not tell long stories, argue, talk scandal or rumors_.[4]

There were as many things to remember _not_ to do as do. She was frequently a failure on all counts. Those failures had never counted for much with her, despite her mother's displeasure, but the thought that she was both Ignorant of how to be a Woman with a Man and could also ultimately prove to be a Failure at it was too much to bear.

A troubling line about unhappy wives from Mrs. Ellis' handbook, which had been pressed into Alice's hands at the age of twelve, floated through her mind: _Her highest duty is so often to suffer and be still_.[5] Suffer and be still—Alice was certain she was not good at either of these things. And Hatter may not even want what Otherland men wanted. How was she to ever find out what a Man wanted; what He wanted? Good heavens! She was considering what he _wanted_.

"Alice?" a voice squeaked.

Alice blinked looking to her right.

"Down here!" the voice demanded, and Alice directed her gaze downwards. Mally stood on the chair next to her, looking up inquisitively. "You did not touch your soup."

Alice looked down. Soup? Her soup was gone; cleared away by a servant whom she did not even observe. "I am not hungry," Alice explained. Not the Truth, but an explanation that made some Sense, she hoped.

Mally climbed atop the table, using the tablecloth to haul herself up. She moved over to Alice's bread plate. _Bread should be cut in thin slices, and laid on the napkin on the left of each plate_. Alice smiled to herself: she was as mad as the Hatter.

"Are you unwell, the Alice?" Mally asked quietly.

Alice bent her head to better hear the Dormouse.

"You are not eating and we all need you to be well…for him to be happy."

"Him?" Alice muttered. "Oh!" she exclaimed, when she realized that Mally was inclining one white ear in the direction of the Hatter. "I'm quite well," Alice assured the Dormouse, as she reached for her fork.

Tarrant worried about her health. She must try to eat something even if she did not feel up to the task. He worried about her, and yet he was avoiding her. She had done everything wrong.

"You come and you go and you are well and you are sick," Mally griped. "You don't know what it does."

Alice thought perhaps she did.

...

* * *

[1] This riddle is taken from taken from 'The Girls Own Book' by Mrs. Child, 1864.

[2] This game also appears in 'The Girls Own Book' by Mrs. Child with the following instructions on game play: "This ancient game is so well known, that it needs but a brief notice. One of the company is blindfolded, and runs round to catch the others, who all try to keep out of his grasp, at the same time that they go as near him as they can. If he catches one, and cannot tell who it is, he must let her go, and try again." There is evidence of the game being played as far back as the 16th c. at Henry VIII's court.

[3] Alice muddles the "Three Blind Mice" nursery rhyme. This rhyme originated with the publication of _Deuteromelia or The Seconde part of Musicks melodie_ in 1609. The editor of the book, and possible author of the rhyme, was Thomas Ravenscroft. The original lyrics are:

"Three Blinde Mice,

Three Blinde Mice,

Dame Iulian,

Dame Iulian,

the Miller and his merry olde Wife,

shee scrapte her tripe licke thou the knife."

The rhyme entered the nursery rhyme corpus in its modern form in 1842 with its inclusion in a collection published by James Orchard Halliwell.

[4] Etiquette manuals from the second half of the nineteenth century, such as _The Habits of Good Society: A Handbook of Etiquette for Ladies and Gentlemen_, contained such advice on proper social deportment.

[5] Mrs. Ellis was a popular nineteenth century English writer of handbooks, such as _The Women of England: Their Social Duties and Domestic Habits_ and _Guide to Social Happines_s. This quote is taken from one of her books and demonstrates the expected non-sexuality of women, which was considered desirable and in many cases resulted in unsatisfying sex lives for both sexual partners after marriage.


	15. Chapter 14

**Later that evening...  
**  
The Queen placed her hand on Alice's back and urged her to take a seat, but Alice fidgeted and fussed, attempting as politely as possible to avoid the stool being offered to her in the closed circle. Hatter observed this refusal and cursed himself. She did not want to sit next to him during the evening's parlor games. Particularly not this close—as close as the game of Hide the Slipper, which in this case was being played with a thimble supplied by himself, required.[1] The stools were close and so too would they be if she accepted Mirana's invitation to sit in the empty stool next to his. Closeness, touching…

Those were Thoughts that should not be thought, he reminded himself sternly. He was taking great Care to regulate himself, so that he did not do something Wholly Improper from which they could not recover. He could not continue to pursue her during Blind Man's Bluff. He could not sit next to her at dinner. He almost certainly should not sit next to her during Hide the Slipper, with their hands touching…

Curses! He dug his fingers into his thighs, trying to ward off a visible mood change, as the Queen finally coaxed Alice onto the stool. Their thighs brushed together only separated by pants and skirts thanks to the tightness of the circle. For the love of Underland, Hatter inwardly moaned. _He_ _could not let Alice know_. Because, it was obvious that while Alice teased and touched, _she did not know what she was about_.

"Tarrant," Alice said softly, touching his elbow. "Hands behind our backs," she reminded him, slipping her hand behind her back and nodding at him to do the same.

He obediently placed his hands behind his back, although as his arm grazed hers in the process, he continued to think better of this whole game. And he usually _loved_ games so!

The thimble began to move around the circle going clockwise, so that Alice received it and passed it to him: her soft hand pressing the warmed thimble into his palm. He was stunned by the touch for a moment and the Knight who was 'it' almost tagged him before he had the good Sense to pass it to his left. The thimble picked up speed around the circle and Hatter could tell—for he was better at keeping track of thimbles than anyone else present—that it was about to reach Alice again. She would soon be touching him again. Alice giggled as Thackery wildly slid the thimble into her hand and yet again the transfer was made—Alice to Tarrant; Champion to Hatter. His heart rate was increasing and he squinted his eyes as the thimble made yet another round, hoping that the color of his eyes might be somewhat obscured to the players by the narrowing of his lids.

The thimble would soon be upon them again, and the Knight was getting much better at gauging its location, Tarrant realized. In fact, he seemed to be following it and waiting for it to reach…Alice. This _slurking urpal slackush scrum wanted to catch Alice with the thimble. He wanted to TOUCH Alice._

Hatter was not there to take the thimble from Alice's hand, because he had leapt from his chair.

"Dae nae think tae titch her," he bellowed in his deepest brogue, grabbing the Knight by his upper arm and preventing the white armored creature from tagging Alice.

The room went quiet, and Hatter blinked, clearing his mind of the momentary rush of Anger. This was a game. Just a parlor game, and he had let the madness take him. He released his grip on the Knight and spun on his heel, knocking over his stool as he stumbled out of the circle.

Someone called his name, but he did not pause to determine the speaker as he hurried from the room, leaning forward with purpose driven escape. The Idea of another man touching Alice—the _guddler's scut_.[2] Queen Mirana would collect any number of fools at her court, taking in any person that crossed her path; this Knight certainly ranked amongst the biggest fools at the court, thinking he could _touch_ Alice. His blood was boiling: it was all he could do to not think of her as His Alice even though a Rational Voice had urged him never to do that. _Another man touching His Alice_. Stop, stop, STOP, he demanded of himself, fisting his hands and marching towards his bedchamber, where he could give loose to his rage without fear of being observed.

Alice was beautiful. Alice had so much muchness. Alice was kind. Alice was strong willed. Alice was playful. Alice was serious. Alice was curious. Alice was clever. Alice was a woman. He was not the only one to notice Adult Alice, he would not be the last, and there was nothing he could do about it. Although, he would like to twist the head off any man who even dared think of _touching His Alice_. He would like to scream from the parapets that Alice was _not to be touched by any man_ in Underland under threat of his claymore coming into use.

He had not looked to see what Alice's response to his outburst had been. There were some things he had no wish to know. Alice was not yet afraid of him, but one day she would be—perhaps today would be that day. Then she would leave. Forever.

"Tarrant!" a voice called to him as he entered his bedchamber and was ready to slam the door behind himself.

He spun around to face whatever bodiless voice was there to taunt him.

Alice. His Alice. Here before him. Inexplicably, she had followed him.

He could almost feel that his eyes were mismatched: one likely orange and one turning blue to see her standing before him at the door to his bedchamber with her bosom rising and falling from the chase he had unknowingly led her on through the winding palace hallways. No, he could not be alone with her.

"Shift, Alice," he demanded, grabbing hold of the door and trying to shut her out.[3]

She blocked his maneuver, however, with a stiff arm to the door. Only brute force would have won the contest, and he did not want to hurt Alice. There were other more pressing things he would like to do with her. Damn her muchness, he thought with chagrin. There were not many lasses who would be brave enough to follow him here and force their way inside his room. But now that she was here…lovely, heaving Alice…

He grinned with devilish delight. "Then if ye willna gae, shift aside sae Ah can shut th' door, wee laddie," he growled.

…

Alice did as she was told. She stepped aside so that Hatter could shut the door.

_Ladies will not permit their escorts to enter any apartment reserved for ladies only_.

It was perhaps thought by moralists unnecessary to say the reverse: ladies should not enter any apartments reserved for gentlemen only. For what would a lady ever want in a gentleman's apartment? What proper lady would ever even consider coming to a gentleman's apartment? Yet, here she was in Tarrant Hightopp's bedchamber, staring into his mismatched eyes after he had shut the door behind them decisively. She was in a man's bedchamber, alone with the gentleman in question, no chaperone, and a closed door between them and the world. Her mother would faint dead away should she ever find out.

She had run after him when he fled the room where they had been playing Hide the Slipper, giving no thought to what the rest of the company must think of his outburst, his charging from the room, and her giving chase.

_A true lady will go quietly and unobtrusively about her business, never seeking to attract the attention of the opposite sex_.

Here I am, Alice thought, her chest continuing to heave, as she attempted to draw breath. Deal with me, Tarrant.

"Tell me whit ye want, Alice," he urged, stepping closer to her.

"I want you to tell me why you jumped up like that during our game."

She was proud of herself that her voice did not shake, because looking into his mismatched eyes and feeling him menace over her, she was somewhat frightened. His nostrils flared slightly, and she imagined that this was not the Response he was seeking.

"Are ye sure ye want tae knaw?" he asked, his eyes taunting her.

She nodded, 'Yes.'

He barked out a laugh: "Ye dinna knaw whit ye'r aboot, lassie." He shook his head and drew a deep breath, but his eyes remained unevenly colored. "Ah didna want him tae titch ye," he gritted out.

"But, _why_? I know no ill of him," she pressed him, both wanting and fearing an answer. _He is a Man_, she thought, held captivated by his gaze.

His right hand snaked up and interlaced itself in her hair at the base of her neck, pulling her towards him. Alice raised her hands to his chest, as much to keep some futile distance between them as to feel him beneath her touch.

He spoke into her temple, his lips brushing her skin: "For, Ah didna want ony man touchin' ye."

"Any…any man but you, Tarrant?" Alice stuttered.

"Aye," he said, pulling her fully against him somewhat roughly.

Pressed against him, Alice could feel the outlines of his body plainly. He was hard in places that she was not, she discovered. His gaze washed over her in a possessive manner. Her pulse was thrumming in her ears so loudly that she almost did not hear him speak.

"Say it again," he murmured.

"Say what?" she asked, feeling his chest rise against hers with each breath he drew.

"Ma name."

She wet her lips, preparing to say his name, but it seemed to be sticking in her throat. Her Tongue was not being cooperative. It may have been startled by the intensity of his gaze directed to her lips. "Tarrant," she finally whispered.

He smiled at her in response. Not his usual wide toothy grin or his nervous half-smile, but a closed-lipped predatory smirk that sent shivers up her spine.

"Whin ye said ye loved me in the gairden, Ah knew 'twas ye an' nae ma mind playin' tricks, for ye ran awa' efter ye said it," he said, rubbing his cheek against her in a feline manner. "Ayeways runnin'."

His hands were wandering. Where were his hands going? She made a nonsense sound in the back of her throat, which made him hoarsely chuckle.

"Otherwise, Ah would hiv thocht ye wisna real," he said, tipping her head back by tugging slightly on her hair.

"I'm real," she managed, watching as he eyed her throat, as if he might sink his teeth into her and take a taste.

His eyes, which had both begun to settle into blue, suddenly were rimmed in orange. "Did ye _want_ him tae titch ye? War ye _desirous_ o' it?"

Desirous, desire, desiring, desired—that WORD.

"No," she whispered. The idea of wanting the Knight to touch her had never crossed her mind. She had never desired anyone, could not remember feeling this burning, this absolute need to be touched until…

She only just saw his orange rimmed eyes fade to yellow, as he ducked in towards her right ear, which he nudged with his nose, hissing: "'at's a good lassie."

She did not feel good, particularly. Well, that was not the Truth: she felt rapturous, but a 'good girl'? Surely not.

His voice was rough and vibrated against her skin. "Dae ye want me?"

Did she _want_ him? She was fairly certain she was not supposed to want anyone. It was one thing to speak of Love but of Want? No one had ever spoken to her about this _need_ before. Nice girls were surely not supposed to feel like this. She curled her fingers tightly into his jacket, trying to stay upright, as his breath puffed against her ear and neck. She could make no response to his question—not now—but she hummed in the back of her throat, savoring the feel of him against her.

"A'm wantin' ye, Alice," he spoke slowly.

She was overwhelmed with feeling—the feel of his body, the physical feel of their bodies pressed together, the emotions fighting for dominance in her chest, and the physical sensations awakening in her body.

"Dinna let ither men titch ye, lassie," he commanded, punctuating his statement by grazing the lobe of her ear with his teeth.

Perhaps he really was going to bite her, she thought, taking a shuttering breath. Now was the moment to push away from him. Tell him that no man would ever command her. She was her own woman. She was in control. Except, she found to her horror, that she would not mind giving up power to Tarrant in this moment. She found, rather, that she _desired_ to give up control. That devilish word, she gasped, as he took off his hat with his left hand and chucked it to the floor. His HAT—what in heaven's name was Hatter about?

"A'd lik' tae claim ma reward."

Oh, she remembered with a start, she had promised him a reward upon recovering from the grippe, when she was still dangerously flirting and toying with him. This is what came of wanton behavior. Tarrant was not a toy: he was a Man.

_It is in especially bad taste for lovers to indulge in any affectionate demonstrations_.

Lovers? Why had that Word come into her head? Was that what they were? Is that what they were becoming? He loved; she loved; lovers.

"Aye or na, luvie?" he asked, wrapping his left arm tightly around her waist and spanning the small of her back with his hand.

Yes or no? Yes or no? What was she being asked? She was having trouble thinking. Her brain was a muddle.

"Aye or na?" he repeated, tilting his head in close to hers.

Realization dawned: he was asking her whether she wanted him to kiss her or not. Even in this heated passion infused with the madness, he was giving her the choice. This was another moment—a moment when she should say, 'No,' and quit the room with her dignity and repute intact.

Yes or no, Alice!

"Yes."

His lips crushed hers as soon as the word left her mouth. She had not yet brought her lips together from speaking it, and he caught her lower lip between his, tugging and running his tongue over it. She moaned—mercy—_she moaned into his mouth_.

This was nothing like the kiss he had given her outside the Hat House, when he had thought that she was not Real. That kiss had been brief, celebratory, sweet, firm but gentle. This one required that she cling to him so she did not slide down to the floor in a puddle. This one was making her toes curl. This kiss was insistent, demanding, and commanding. He was pushing his tongue past her lips, into her mouth. His hand was dipping below her waist. Below…

Abruptly his lips, his arms, his body were gone from hers. He was stumbling backwards and holding out his hands, as if he was not in agreement with his own movements and part of him was trying to grab her up in his arms once more. His eyes were swirling, changing rapidly from blue to green to yellow and back again.

She tried to catch her breath, her hand rising to her chest. What had just happened?

"Alice, turn aboot an' lea this room," he ordered her, his hands trembling visibly.

"But, Tarrant…" she tried, but he stepped forward and firmly took her by the shoulder, turning her around.

"Nae noo, Alice. Ah canna help mysel."

With that she found herself on the other side of the Hatter's closed bedchamber door with a toothsome grinning Cat floating before her at eye level.

"Looking a little rattled, shaken about, roughed up," the Cat said grinning with insinuations. "Out of breath?"

Alice frowned and attempted to sidestep the Cat and make her way to her bedchamber. She could not return to the parlor games now. Not after what had happened—behind closed doors.

"Did you see…any of that?" she asked innocently, as she made her way down the hallway followed by the floating Cat. One could never tell where that infernal Cat was going to pop up.

"Was there _something_ to see?" Chessur purred.

Alice did not respond and began to walk somewhat faster.

"He told you that he's in love with you, I presume. Is the feeling returned? Is that why you're barreling down hallways after him?"

Another question she would not answer. "It's rude to ask such personal questions, you know. You should confine conversations to comments on the weather if you cannot hold your tongue," Alice lectured.

"Is that what has left you so breathless? Discussing the weather with the Hatter?" Chessur drawled.

Alice glared at the Cat. "Botheration! Why did _you_ leave the party?"

"Hmm…" the Cat considered. "I was a little anxious about your welfare, I suppose," he admitted.

That seemed unlikely.

"I'm not always the slurvish creature Hatter paints me to be," Chessur announced, seemingly affronted by her silent judgment.

"Forgive me, my thoughts were uncharitable. Why were you concerned about me?"

The Cat floated over the entrance to her bedchamber, pressing a paw to his head. "The Hatter is mad, in case you have not noticed. I saw the _color of his eyes_ whilst we were playing Hide the Slipper—he is dreadfully fond of you. Unhealthy, really, these human attachments."

Alice flushed red at the Cat's allusion.

"I thought you might be in need of assistance," the Cat finished.

"Hatter would never hurt me," Alice said, reaching for the knob.

"That wasn't my concern _exactly_," the Cat chuckled, disappearing as she opened her door.

* * *

[1] The following comes from _The Girls Own Book_ by Mrs. Child, 1864: "All the players but one are placed in a circle; that one remains inside to hunt the slipper, which is passed from hand to hand very rapidly in the circle. The Hunter cannot judge where it is, because all the players keep their hands moving all the time, as if they were passing it. The one in whose hand it is caught become the Hunter, and pays a forfeit. Usually…[players] play sitting side by side, very close to each other, on low stools...Some prefer playing this game with a thimble or a marble, because it is not so likely to be seen as a slipper."

[2] _guddler's scut_ - thief's ass

[3] _shift_ – move


	16. Chapter 15

**Orpel Day**

The sound of a throat being cleared roused her from her sleep, but the room was still dark—the sun not having yet risen—and she could not make out who was doing the clearing. For one terrifying moment she feared for her safety.

"Pardon me for dropping in like this," a voice purred, as she sat up on her elbows ensconced in the white sheets, "but you might want to see to your Hatter."

Your Hatter, she thought, blinking in the darkness. Was that what he was? To her? To him? To everyone with eyes and ears? Finally a Cat with teal eyes materialized alongside her bed and Alice relaxed somewhat. It was not someone here to hurt her and it was not Tarrant—the other terrifying Notion that had occurred to her fleetingly.

"Excuse me?" she said, her voice sounding unused from sleep.

"Your Hatter is fleeing the castle and I thought perhaps you might want to stop him, for there is no telling where he is going, what he will do, when he will…"

"Fleeing the castle?" Alice demanded, as her heart sunk and she slipped from the covers onto the cold floor. "Why didn't you stop him?" she asked, hurrying for her dressing gown draped over the chaise.

"I tried, but he's a mad, love-sick, self-loathing lump of a human. I can do nothing with him. I suspect he will only listen to You."

Alice slipped her arms into her dressing gown and began to tie the pink satin ribbon at her chest to draw it closed. "Why has he done this?"

"Why?" the Cat asked, stretching out one paw and smiling with one half of his grin. "Can't you think of a more appropriate question at this time?"

Yes, actually, she could. "Where is he?"

"Reaching the gates of the castle about now, I wager. You'll have to hurry if you want to catch him."

How was she to ever catch up, Alice wondered? She glanced around hastily and caught sight of her button up patent boots. There was no way she would catch him in bare feet, so she ran to her shoes and quickly slipped them on.

"Hurry," Chessur urged her in a lazy drawl, although the command was not necessary, she was already hurrying out the door and along the hallway and down the stairs.

On her way out, she had to pass Hatter's bedchamber, which she had left some hours previous. A swift sidelong glance into the open door showed a scene of violence: overturned chairs, scattered clothes, rent curtains. How had no one heard the racket he must have been making? What had made him go so mad? Had she not assured him that she had not wanted the Knight to touch her? Was his jealousy not abated?

At the entrance to the castle she stopped momentarily to breathily ask the guards, 'Which way?' She had not said of whom she spoke, but they knew. If they had possessed faces, Alice believed that they would have shown their no doubt sizable intrigue at this little scene playing out before them. One fleeing Hatter, one pursuing Champion. But, she could care less what they Thought. She followed their extended arms in the appointed direction, but she could not yet see Hatter in the distance through the dark of the night. He had a head start on her and he had longer legs to speed him along his way.

Why would he leave Marmoreal? Why would he flee in the early morning hours? What was there in this world that she could not help him with? Why would he leave her? She had thought, perhaps incorrectly, that they were coming to an understanding—that he was a Man and she was a Woman and he loved and she loved and they loved and they could one day possibly become…

Run, she urged herself, run faster than you have ever run before, and she did. Still, while a distance was growing between herself and Marmoreal, there was no Tarrant in sight. He could have altered his course, turned somewhere. She stumbled to a stop, needing to catch her breath and feeling at loose ends.

"Hatter!" she yelled into the night, holding one hand over her heaving chest.

She could taste blood in the back of her throat from the exertion of running, but she would have to begin again if she wanted to stop him. Giving up simply was not an option. Having vowed not to leave him, it had not occurred to Alice that she might need to extract a similar vow from him. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand and began to scurry forward once more.

At long last something appeared in the distance: a tall form walking stiff legged under the canopy of trees. Was her mind playing tricks on her?

"Hatter!" she screamed, verging on hysteria.

The form did not stop, but its movements seemed less steady at the sound of her shout.

"Hatter, stop!" she yelled again, hurrying forward with her last burst of energy.

The form came to a faltering halt, but did not turn to face her. It was not necessary, however, for now close as she was, Alice could see that it was indeed her Hatter. Yes, she rather liked that nomenclature—Her Hatter.

She reached him and grabbed the sleeve of his coat, forcing him with gentle pressure to turn and face her.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

He swallowed, causing his bowtie to bob. "Leaving."

"I can see that," Alice said, letting his coat slip and wrapping her arms about her waist.

"You're in your…nightclothes," he lisped.

She looked down at herself. "I did not have time to change given the speed at which you were tearing out of the castle," she explained.

Looking back up, she saw that his yellow eyes were rimmed in blue. That color…it had something to do with attraction, she had come to realize. Her standing before him half dressed…she bit her lip. Attraction to her. He was attracted to her and yet he had run from her like they were two magnets oriented to the same pole driven helplessly apart.

"Why would you leave me?" she asked. "In the middle of the night no less," she added, gesturing around at the darkness that surrounded them.

Surely her Hatter was much too kind to want to punish her for having left _him _by leaving_ her_.

He frowned, eyes searching the ground for something to safely light upon. Clearing his throat, he whispered to her, still staring at the ground:

"Bell-horses, bell-horses,  
What time of day?  
One o'clock, two o'clock,  
Off and away."[1]

He was avoiding her question, but she was not going to let him get away with it. "Why, Tarrant?" she repeated more softly.

He looked up at her and gave a start: "Alice, you're leaking," he said, reaching up a trembling hand to her cheek. He wiped the stray tears that had escaped from her eyes unbidden with his calloused thumbs. "Why, lass?"

"Because, you left."

"You mustn't cry, love."

Alice took a deep breath. "I was awoken to news that you were quite literally running away. Why would you do that?"

"I did not want to hurt you," he lisped, as his hands slipped from her face and tucked themselves in his waistcoat.

"You haven't," she insisted.

"A man can hurt a woman in more ways that you know," he mused sadly.

"Hatter," she said affectionately. "You _won't_. I trust you."

"I don't trust myself," he admitted, scuffing his feet.

"Let me trust for the both of us," she boldly suggested. "I can easily bear the weight of it."

"Alice…" he began with a sigh. "I don't _want_ to leave you."

"Then don't, stubborn Hatter!" she said, trying to smile cheerfully so as to encourage him to do the same. It hurt her to see him looking so downcast.

"But, what I did this evening was very bad: naughty, naughty behavior of the most reprehensible kind. I cannot trust myself around you. For _you_ are so Alice and _I_ am so Hatter that I cannot help myself. What I did was bad but what I wanted to do was…_worse_," he finished, shuttering from his feet to the top of his hat.

"What you did…what we did was naughty perhaps, but not _bad_," Alice said, although she was not so sure about that. Tarrant might be better versed on the subject than she was, but now was not the time to query him about it, she imagined.

His brows drew together, as he regarded her very carefully. "Alice, are you well?"

"Perfectly," she assured him, as she adjusted her dressing gown more tightly about herself. There was no reason she should tempt him, she considered, as she watched the blue rim around his eyes grow more prominent. Not when he felt so very guilty already. It was just that she had never thought of herself as a Temptation, a Tempter, or a Temptress.

Tarrant removed his hat and turned it around in a circle in front of him. "You must not prop…properly recall, because I...said things and took liberties with you that I…"

Yes, he had been doing the taking, but where had she been? Had she not be taught not to allow such liberties? Had she not had several moments when she could have said—STOP!—when instead, she had said—_yes_.

"I did not stop you, as I should have. So, it is as much my fault as yours," she said matter-of-factly.

He tilted his head, contemplating her words. "Why did you not stop me?" he finally asked.

Alice wet her lips, trying to think of how she might best respond to his question. A part of her wanted to avoid providing him with an answer, to pull up her nightgown and run away, but she was too tired from the running she had already done. There was nothing to do but face the issue.

"I suppose I did not, because I did not mind…_so very much_."

Tarrant blinked quickly, seemingly confused by her confession. Finally, he shook his head in the negative, as if to indicate his assessment of her admission. "If you had not left when you did, Alice, you would not have liked…"

Alice felt her stomach begin to flip and she took a quick breath. "What would have happened?" she found herself asking before she could bite back her words.

He had been so passionate, so forceful, and as she had pondered it in her bedchamber after having been shepherded from his bedchamber, she found that she liked this Hatter. Just as she liked gentle, shy, and uncertain Hatter. Two sides of one curiously complicated coin, and she was terribly fond of curiosities.

Tarrant's mouth opened and closed several times, but no sound came out. He placed his hat back on his head, pressing it down a bit too far so as to hide under the brim.

What did Tarrant want to do? What had he been about to do to her? Why was it necessary that he usher her out of his bedchamber? Why would this drive him to flee the castle? Her mind filled to the brim with curiosity about his possible answers to these questions.

"Ah desired tae…" he began, but could get no further.

Desire: she was growing increasingly familiar with this word.

She took a step closer and reached up a hand to rest against his downturned cheek. She could tease him no longer. She would need to draw on her store of muchness. "Did you…want to _be_ with me?" Alice asked softly, unable to find the exact words to express the sentiment.

She felt Tarrant jerk beneath her touch at her question. If he was surprised by it, she was just as surprised she would ever have cause to ask such a thing.

"Is that why you left?" she prodded.

"Aye," he said, beginning to shy away from her touch. "I could not live with myself if…"

"You stopped, Tarrant."

"Ah should nae even hiv _thocht_ it. An' it wisna the first time: A'v thocht it afore. A'm a slurvish man nae worthy o' ye," he said, his eyes half blue and half yellow.

Alice brought her hand around to the back of Hatter's neck. "That's utter rubbish. I will decide who is worthy and who is not," she said sternly, despite the softness of her touch.

Tarrant blinked rapidly, straightening up and growing an inch in the process. "Well, yes, of course you will. It is only right that the Champion make her own decisions on such things. And while I could not hope to begin to dream that you might even deign to think on me what with my madness and my penchant for…"

"Tarrant," she said firmly.

His eyes closed and opened again. "I'm fine. Thank you."

She laced her fingers in his hair and raised her brows to let him know she was Serious: "Now, come back to the castle with me. You're not going anywhere."

"I'm not?" he asked, his voice coming out a little high and thin.

"Certainly not. Running away is simply no longer acceptable," she said with authority. "I came back to Underland for you, Tarrant."

"For me?" he lisped.

"Why did you think, silly Hatter?" she asked, scratching lightly at his scalp.

He sighed, his eyes closing in satisfaction. After a moment, he opened one eye a crack to survey her. "You haven't changed your mind? Even after what I've told you about…wanting?"

"After what you've told me, I don't want you anywhere else," she said with a sly smile. Her heart raced at her boldness, but she _must not tease_ Tarrant. "I am untested, but I have no wish to tease you for my own amusement."

He leaned in close to her. "Ah dae nae mynd th' teasing, luve, if ye knaw howfur A'm feelin'."

"I do, and you understand how I feel?" Alice asked.

"I would not mind being reminded. How _do_ you feel?" he lisped, inches from her lips.

"I feel like I would like you to kiss me again, please."

"Please?" he chuffed.

"Please," she repeated, as he closed the distance between them.

Hatter's top hat bumped her brow and he frowned. "Daft hat," he cursed, removing it from his head and wrapping his arms around her waist, hat clutched behind her back.

She could feel the heat of his body through her flimsy cotton nightgown, and it made her hands yearn to explore him without so many layers. Wanton, wicked Alice, she inwardly scolded herself. But, she did not have long to lecture herself, because he kissed her. This kiss was more like the first—firm, but gentle. She could get used to kissing Tarrant. She wanted to have him kiss her like this every day. He pulled back too soon and she sighed.

"You won't leave again?" she asked a little tremulously. How was it that he left her feeling so needy?

"Aye. Ah wilna lea ye."

His eyes were a beautiful blue, but he did not seem carried away with madness like the night before. She was both relieved and a little disappointed by that. This Hatter would not take what was not expressly given.

"Again," she spoke, brushing his lips with her own.

He obliged her, pulling her closer to him as he did so. Her mother would be thoroughly scandalized, but Alice could not be bothered to stop. She had no intention of ever stopping: he was Her Hatter.

"My Hatter," she murmured against his lips, trying the title out for size.

Tarrant hesitated for a moment, before returning the sentiment: "My Alice."

She smoothed back his troublesome ginger hair.

"This is impossible," Hatter said, awestruck.

"Sometimes I believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast," Alice whispered.

He quirked a brow at her. "An excellent practice, but just at the moment, you should focus on the kissing."

…

* * *

[1] "Bell-Horses" is a traditional English nursery rhyme. It can be found in _The Nursery Rhymes of England_ (1843) by James Orchard Halliwell. It was often chanted by children prior to a race.


	17. Chapter 16

**Later that evening**

That evening, Tarrant was rather pleased with himself when he did not dissolve into madness: not even once. Not at dinner, not during a most amusing game of Squeak, Piggy, Squeak!, and not when Alice asked him to join her on the balcony.[1] He was perfectly in control; a state of being made possible by his increasing assurance that Alice would not leave, Alice loved him, and Alice understood. All of these things seemed impossible, but luckily enough both he and Alice were in the practice of believing in impossible things. The shadows receded in his mind and he felt largely at peace.

Sitting on the stone floor of the balcony with Hatter's lanky legs sticking out before him and Alice's tucked beneath her skirts, Alice rested her head against his shoulder. Alice touching, he thought, contentedly sighing. He leaned his cheek against the crown of her head. Her blonde curls felt silky against his skin.

"I told my mother that I was leaving England for a New World."

Alice wanted to tell him how she had come to leave Otherland forever. How she had left her family.

"What did she say?" he lisped.

Alice took a moment to respond. He wished he could see her face: he hoped she was not leaking again.

"She knew I wasn't happy in London. The parting was difficult, but she accepted it, because I told her I would be happy here."

She interlaced her hand in his and his heart soared as high as the twinkling stars. Happy here, happy in Underland.

"With you," she added tenderly.

His heart stopped. He was certain: it absolutely stopped, just like Time had for him so long ago.

"You…told your mother…about me?" he asked, in sheer utter disbelief. Alice spoke of him? To her family? As if she was not ashamed?

"Yes, I said I had met a gentleman and we would take care of each other." Her head rose from his shoulder and she twisted somewhat so as to look him in the eye. "Won't we?"

"Aye, luve," he said, kissing her forehead. He had not known that his heart could feel as if it was breaking with happiness, but the ache of Alice leaving her family to be with him was making his chest feel painfully tight. He had lost his family, but Alice had given hers up: for him. "Ah will tak' care o' ye for ayeways if ye will let me."

Alice's smile was warm and just for him. He would have to store it in his Alice box—marked 'A' in his mind—along with Alice kisses and Alice touches. Of all the storage boxes in his mind, 'A' had become his favorite by far.

"I'd like that," Alice said, snuggling back down into his shoulder.

She yawned softly. Alice was tired, because he had dashed from the castle like a madman in the middle of the night and she had given chase. That should come as no surprise, however: he _was_ a madman. All the same, he would like to be better—for her.

"I'm mad, you know," he lisped softly. Just in case Alice had forgotten, he wanted to remind her. It would not do for Alice to agree to his taking care of her if she had forgotten such an important detail. She might end up doing all of the caring for, after all.

"I'll take care of the madness," she assured him. "And you take care of me."

"Are you sure I can?"

"Quite sure. You've been taking care of me ever since I came to Underland," she said, curling a hand in his lapel. "Stuffing me in teapots, throwing me in hats, giving yourself up to save me, stabbing jabberwockies for me, making me lovely dresses and hats, carrying me to Marmoreal…"

He could not help but feel a little bit proud at Alice's recounting of the good turns he had done her. His bowtie may have fluffed up a tad bit in response. Nothing brought him the kind of pleasure that helping Alice did. "Those things were all very Necessary," he said, shrugging off the praise, despite it feeling so good. Alice would not want him to become unpardonably pompous.

"And without many of them, I wouldn't be here."

"Dinna even think it, lass." A world without Alice was something he never wanted to think on again.

"I won't go anywhere," she assured him, as if she had read his Thoughts. "I arranged things with the company, so I could be assured that my mother would be cared for," Alice continued, rubbing her cheek into his coat. "You smell like tea," she mused.

He wordlessly beamed at her olfactory observation.

"I had to be sure that she would be all right before I left. I couldn't live with myself if I thought that she was…"

"Of course you did the Right Thing, Alice." Alice always did the Right Thing. She was Alice.

"There's nothing I can do for Margaret," she inhaled. "I wish I could, but she married Lowell and he is rotten."

"Frumious?"

"No. He…isn't faithful to my sister."

He felt Alice go slightly stiff against his side. Did Alice think all men were tail-toddle chasing hochmagandiers?[2] "Alice, I would never…" he began to explain.

She lifted her head and kissed him under the chin. "I know, Tarrant. I chose more wisely than my sister did."

His pulse raced at the very Thought. Alice chose _him_. Alice chose _wisely_. He chose her as well, but who would not take Alice for their queen if given the chance? "Lavender blue and Rosemary green, when I am king you shall be queen."[3]

"We have queens enough in Underland, I think."

He could _feel_ the smile in her voice, right through the silk of his waistcoat and shirt.

Alice continued, "My sister and mother are practical females with a lot of practical ideas about how one should live, what one should wear, and whom one should marry. They only wanted what they thought was best for me. All the same, my mother married my fanciful father. So, she did not _always_ make the practical decision." Alice ran her index finger over the rim of one of the large black buttons on his coat, and it caused him to shiver. "It hurts a little to talk about them—my family—for I miss them, but I want to tell you."

He ran a hand through her golden locks.

"I cannot begin to imagine how it hurts you, but I would like to hear about your family too, Tarrant."

Smoke and fire and screams: he could smell, see, and touch it, but he could not save them. He chose the Queen. He chose…

"Tarrant," she said softly, reaching up to press a hand to his cheek.

He swallowed, trying to regain his voice. "I do them a Disservice," he finally managed to choke out.

"You couldn't," she said, knitting her brow and stroking his cheek.

"I don't think of them…ever, because of the Pain, because of the madness."

"That's self-preservation, Hatter, and I don't want to cause you either pain or madness. You don't have to speak of them just because I asked," she assured him before slipping back to his shoulder.

Now that the Thought had entered his mind, however, Tarrant could not put aside the idea that by forcing his family to the back of his mind he had done them a Disservice. Never mind that Alice wanted to know: she wanted to know about his family, and no one had asked about them since Horunvendush Day, because everyone was too frightened of what he might do or did not care enough to ask. _Alice cared_.

He prepared himself by taking two slow breaths. "I was the third of six bairns born to my Mither and Faither, Thora and Breannan Hightopp. Two Sisters before me—Effie and Rhona—and a Sister and two Brithers after—Maisie, Callum, and Nevin."

He had spoken their Names. He waited for the madness to seize him, but while the voices were quietly calling to him, he was not immediately overwhelmed. Instead, he felt Alice's deft fingers working apart one of his clenched fists and interlacing his fingers with her own—soft and warm.

"Faither did not expect that I follow in the Hightopp trade. He would have rather I apprenticed with another clan, such as the Smithers, and link our clan with other Outlanders, but I had a mind for finer things: I had a mind to be a hatter. I learned to sew at my Mither's feet. She had an uncommon way with a needle and thread."

His mother, his dear mother, who had tucked him into bed, soothed his troubles, and baked the most heavenly bannock in the entire village.[4] Who had taught him how to thread a needle and given him his first thimble. Who had kissed him thrice when he had left for court, as if he might never come back. Who had worried over him every time he visited, wishing he had met a nice girl to take care of him in her stead.

His breath began to come quick and shallow, but Alice's other hand stroking the back of their joined hands called him back. He could _do this_.

"I left for the White Queen's court, as many a Hightopp had done before me, with my younger Sister and Brithers still at home not yet grown. Effie had married Faither's apprentice and Rhona my closest Fere, Finnean. [5] I had five nieces and neffaes.[6] Scores of aunties and uncles and brither-bairns and sister-bairns.[7] A plentiful enough family."

All stolen from him. All cut down. Even his younger siblings who had not yet reached the age of crossing the knowes or been given the chance to prove their worth.[8] Little Maisie knocked to the ground, wearing a hat he had gifted her. He did not even know what had become of Callum and Nevin—he never could find their bodies.

"Aw deid, lass," he said, his broken voice shifting into a thick brogue.

"We will be our own family," Alice whispered.

Instantly, the darkness that had crept around him at the Memory began to recede, replaced by a happier thought, the happiest of thoughts—he and Alice as a family. Sharing a hearth, sharing tea, sharing riddles, sharing rhymes, sharing all the things he had imagined to have been lost forever in the fire. A family: he had cobbled together something of a family for himself with Mallymkun and Thackery, but he felt certain that Alice meant more than that.

Alice might even mean a Little Alice. He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought, inundated by the vision as it washed over him. It had been more years than he could count since he had envisioned a future for himself where he might be a faither. Someone playing at their feet. Someone sitting on a stack of books during teatime. Someone rolling balls of yarn in the workroom. But no, he stopped himself before he completely ran away with the Idea over the hills and far away.[9] Alice might not want such a thing. She might mean something quite different by family, and whatever she did mean, he would be happy with it. He would be happy with Alice. He _was_ happy with Alice.

He looked down, when he escaped his Reverie and recognized that Alice's breathing had become deep and even.

"Alice?" he softly inquired of the blonde head.

There was no answer. Alice had fallen asleep against his shoulder. He lowered her head carefully into his lap and watched the moon rise and listened to the evening birds chatter in the trees surrounding the palace. Looking down on Alice's fair form dreaming happy dreams—he hoped—he felt his heart swell.

At first he began to softly hum and then whisper a tune his Mither would oftentimes sing to his sisters as a lullaby when they were restless abed. He could not remember the title or half of the verses, having attempted to Forget everything that might bring back the Pain, but he repeated pieces of the verses that he remembered humming through the bits he could not recall, as he stroked her wavy hair.

"Hush, my bonnie bairnie;

Dinna greet sae sair…

If my wee lass will be quiet,

Or try to sleep a wee…

Tottie noo has fa'en asleep,

An' her ma' is gled;

Puir wee thing, she maun be tired,

That's her first in bed…"[10]

Perhaps they might spend every night together with her head pillowed in sleep next to him. But not like this. While he would not have minded keeping Alice in his lap all night so that he could watch her and pet her, it was a slurvish thought. Alice would be more comfortable in her own bed. So, for the second time in as many weeks, Tarrant carried Alice away to her bedchamber.

…

Hatter pushed Alice's bedchamber open with his shoulder and carried her towards her bed. He turned, so that her head and feet were properly aligned and carefully set her atop the sheets. Despite his care, Alice's eyes fluttered open as her head met the pillow. She mumbled something unintelligible.

"S'alright, love. Go back to sleep."

But Alice did not heed his words: she struggled up on her elbows before sitting upright and rubbing her eyes. Alice did not look as much like Adult Alice, when she was half awake like this, he thought, seeing something of the Alice he once knew and smiling at the Memory.

"Is it late?" she asked.

"Yes, lass. You'd fallen asleep. Morpheus was already on his way to deliver your dreams."

She smiled sleepily, smoothing her rumpled skirts. "Thank you for bringing me here. You could have woken me."

Hatter tensed. "Did I do wrong? You looked so peaceful, and seeing as I was the reason that you were so tired, I did not want to wake you. If I am completely honest, I must admit that I rather liked that you were asleep in my lap, but then, I don't think that I mentioned that to you. An omission I can correct: you were asleep…"

"Tarrant," she said, stretching out her hand to him.

"I'm fine. Thank you."

"You did nothing wrong," she assured him, squeezing his hand.

He exhaled. She was not upset. Her face, her words, her touch assured him of that.

"I should go," he said so quietly that he wondered whether she would hear him. Perhaps he said it that way, so that he might not have to go. He could not be sure: sometimes his Other self tricked him into such things. But, to stay here at night alone with her in her bedchamber was not proper. It might set tongues a wagging, and he would rather the court tongues stay silent and wag-less in regards to Alice. "The doorknob might tattle," he mumbled.

"I wish you didn't have to go," Alice said.

She meant it innocently, he was certain, but her statement caused unbidden Thoughts to rise to the surface. Thoughts that were miles from Innocence, but which would not be wholly Inappropriate _if_. If she was his—truly His Alice—he would not have to leave her, ever. He might stretch out beside her and not be concerned about doorknobs. It was a lovely Notion, he believed, and the bread-and-butterflies a wing in his stomach agreed with him. Yes, he was old and Alice was young, but Alice had chosen him. Alice had given up family to choose him. She had promised to be his family. If he did not ask, would he not be a fool? Would it not perhaps be ungenerous, unfeeling, unkind to accept her gift of staying and not offer something in return?

"That puts me in mind," he said, pulling off his hat, for while it was a Fine Hat, this was the sort of thing one did hat in hand not hat on head.

"In mind of what?" Alice encouraged him to continue, as his thoughts had briefly wandered to the consideration of proper hat placement.

"I've been investigating things that begin with the letter 'M' lately."

Alice pulled her legs underneath her skirt, kneeling in the sheets. "Yes?"

"Is that an answer?" Could it be that easy, he marveled?

"Were you asking a question, Tarrant?" she prodded.

A question in answer to a question, Curious Alice, he thought, as he began to list off 'M' words that had recently bounced around his mind: "Merriment, marvel, muse, mirth, miracle..."

"Yes?"

"Marriage," he finished.

"Are you asking?" Alice inquired.

"Are you having?"

If more than a half second had passed, Tarrant may have begun to fear, but it did not.

A smile instantly bloomed on Alice's face as she heeded his question. "Yes."

"Yes?" he asked, taking a step closer to the bed.

Alice laughed, "Yes. Yes, Tarrant."

Yes, _Yes_, _YES!_ Alice had answered, 'Yes.' "Damn the blethering doorknob!" Hatter shouted as he joined her on the bed, nearly knocking her over in his uncontained display of exuberant joy.[11]

And he kissed her, _thoroughly_.

* * *

[1] Squeak, Piggy, Squeak! was a Victorian parlor game where the players sat in a circle and the blindfolded person stood at the center and was spun around. The blindfolded person put a cushion on someone's lap and sat down on it, saying "Squeak, piggy, squeak!" The person squeaked and the blindfolded person attempted to identify them. If the person was correctly-identified, he or she became the blindfolded person.

[2] _tail-toddle_—sexual intercourse (Sc); _hochmagandiers_—fornicators (Sc)

[3] "Lavender Blue", also called "Lavender's Blue", is an English folk song and nursery rhyme dating to the seventeenth century. It emerged as a children's song in _Songs for the Nursery_ in 1805 in the form:

"Lavender blue and Rosemary green,

When I am king you shall be queen;

Call up my maids at four o'clock,

Some to the wheel and some to the rock;

Some to make hay and some to shear corn,

And you and I will keep the bed warm."

[4] Bannock is a variety of flat quick bread. When a round bannock is cut into wedges, the wedges are often called scones. In Scotland, the words bannock and scone are often used interchangeably.

[5] _fere _— friend (Sc)

[6] _neffae_ — nephew (Sc)

[7] _brither-bairn_, _sister-bairn_ — cousins (Sc)

[8] In Gaelic culture, girls who had reached puberty were said to 'cross (or come) into the knowes' when the women of the clan performed the ritual of 'kertching,' which involves the education of the girl into womanly ways and the facts of life. This was symbolized by the putting away of the girl's headband for the woman's kertch (a white kerchief). For boys, coming of age rituals often involved some kind of test, where the young man was able to prove his worth.

[9] "Over the Hills and Far Away" is a traditional English song, dating back to at least the early 1700s. The nursery rhyme "Tom, Tom, the Piper's Son" mentions a piper who knows only one tune, this one.

[10] "A Mither's Song" by Charles Nicol (born 1858) is typical of many that he wrote. Nicol has often been described as "The Poet of the Nursery."

[11] _blether_ — gossip (Sc)


	18. Chapter 17

**Scrumium Day**

Alice moved throughout the day wondering whether she had dreamt the previous night. This is what Hatter must often feel like, she thought, always doubting reality. There was no real Proof, so she could not be sure. Only the lingering sense of having been _thoroughly_ kissed, which would not necessarily indicate an Engagement, just naughty behavior. But that is what she seemed to remember. Tarrant had asked her to marry him—in his own particular way—without truly asking. Her heart skipped several beats every time she thought of it. It would have been nice to speak to him about it or at least lay eyes on him, but she had not seen him all day despite her best efforts and now teatime was nigh.

Was she to face all their friends without being sure if what had taken place had been Real? She approached the lengthy outdoor tea table set amongst the palace's ever-blooming cherry trees with Apprehension, her unwelcome companion. She had made sure to be on time, knowing how much Thackery hated late guests, but to her surprise, Hatter was not yet present.

"Good afternoon, Alice," the Queen greeted her, as she took her seat.

"Good afternoon, Your Majesty."

"Rest well, Alice?" the Cheshire Cat purred.

Alice felt color flood her cheeks. "Yes, quite well." Carried asleep to her bedchamber by a Man, proposed to, and kissed, _thoroughly_.

"No running about the woods at night?" he teased.

Alice took the sugar spoon and half-smiled, "Not last night, no. Not a proper night for night running, I'm afraid."

"Shame, that," Chessur replied, flicking his tail. "I spoke with a flower the other day who was quite entertained by your moonlit discussions the other night. Quite interesting subject matter, so I'm told."

Immediately Alice began to worry about what had been said between herself and Tarrant that neighboring flowers might have overheard and reported back on. One was never really Alone in Underland.

"Would you care to share it with the group?" he asked with a broad grin.

"Not particularly," Alice said, stirring her tea.

"You went running at night so as to have nighttime discussions with flowers, the Alice?" Mally asked, knocking over a teacup as she attempted to get comfortable on the table.

"Something a bit like that," Alice hedged.

"Every once and awhile you have a really good Idea," Mally said approvingly.

"Oh, yes," Chessur purred. "Sounds like a _jolly_ good time was had _by all_."

"Our Champion is a great font of New and Interesting Ideas," the Queen said with a serene smile before noiselessly sipping from her teacup.

Thackery threw a scone, which sailed past Alice's head and bounced off the edge of the table, leaving a few crumbs behind. Alice wiped them away to tidy up the table. There should be _some_ semblance of order at the court's teatime, she inwardly lectured. But the scone did indeed look tasty. The March Hare's actions were most likely only due to his enthusiasm about the quality of the baked goods.

"Lovely scone," Alice mused, taking a particularly large one from the platter in front of her. "My compliments, Thackery."

Thackery rubbed his paws together quickly, hiccupping, obviously pleased with Alice's praise of his culinary skills.

"If you intend on running into the woods some other night soon, you might wake your friends," Mally advised, as she crumbled a piece of crumpet in her paw. "We would enjoy a share of the fun, you know."

"Oh, I don't imagine Alice will be lacking _companionship_ anytime soon," Chessur drawled.

Chessur seemed to know more than he should, as usual. Tarrant was not here, but perhaps, since the Cat was so well informed, she might ask Chessur if she was really and truly Engaged to the Hatter. At the Thought, she could not help herself: her attention was drawn to the empty chair. The chair in which her fiancé should be sitting; at least, she _thought_ he was her fiancé.

As she was staring at his chair, she noticed the Queen smiling in her direction quite purposefully. "Your Majesty," Alice said, tearing her gaze from the Hatter's chair to give her attention to Mirana.

"Is everything all right, Alice?" the Queen asked sweetly.

"Yes, I'm fine. I'm merely surprised that the Hatter is late."

Nivens pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat and examined the timepiece. "Infinitely Rude, this business of lateness. A trait I cannot abide in the least."

"_Untimeous!_" Thackery shouted in agreement, throwing his paw in the air for emphasis. [1]

"Not too late, I hope," a voice sounded behind her. "Are all the scones stale?"

Her heart skipped again. This Engagement might be the death of her, she thought, as she glanced over her shoulder. The Hatter dramatically bowed to the Queen before bestowing a toothy smile on Alice.

"Where have you been all day?" Mally asked, as she buttered a small bit of scone.

Apparently, Alice had not been the only one to notice his absence.

Tarrant pulled out his empty chair and brushed his coattails back as he took his seat. "Errands, Mally, Errands of a most essential nature, seeing as I was rather errant in not having performed them earlier. But then, I have been investigating things that begin with the letter 'E' of late."

'E,' Alice thought. Engagement began with an 'E' the last time she checked.

"_Tea!_" Thackery shouted.

"As important as tea, you will see," Hatter said with a wink. "Have I made a rhyme?"

Alice wondered whether he was making a reference to their Engagement. If in fact, it had truly happened and she had not dreamt it. She would have to ask him when she had a moment alone with him. It might be a somewhat awkward conversation. But then, Hatter never seemed averse to asking _her_ if what was happening was Real, so perhaps it was best to put such Scruples aside.

"Can you give us a hint?" Mirana inquired.

"Better than a hint, actually. I shall give you a riddle!"

The Queen clapped her hands, eager to partake in a riddle. The Hatter seemed to be looking around the table for more refreshments, however, leaving everyone in suspense, so Alice handed him a plentiful platter of biscuits. With a smile he took it from her with his right hand, as he deftly handed her a colorful silk handkerchief with his left.

"It has no top or bottom but it can hold flesh, bones and blood all at the same time." He leaned in towards her as she took the handkerchief, whispering conspiratorially, as he nodded at the wadded up piece of silk, "To make it Proper."

Alice frowned, looking down at the proffered item. Make _what_ Proper, she wondered?

"Give us another hint," Mally pleaded, scratching the fur at her temple, evidently stumped.

"No, that shall have to do. You shall merely have to think it through," Hatter said, pouring himself some tea. "I doubt very much I need to point out that most excellent rhyme," he added with a devilish grin.

He certainly seemed to be in an exceptional mood, Alice considered as she fingered the handkerchief. Rhyming, riddling, selecting teatime treats with gusto, and this elevation of mood might be related to their Engagement. She unfolded the handkerchief, and as she did, something fell into her lap.

"A crumpet, perhaps?" Tarrant asked cheerfully, extending a hand across the table with a flourish and nearly knocking over a teapot in the process.

Alice peered down into her lap. Blinking, she attempted to clear her vision so as to be sure it was Real. Everything was beginning to take on the quality of a dream, as it once had when she had returned to Underland. The blinking did not clear her vision, however: a ring, a silver ring lay in her lap. [2] Tarrant had just _given her a ring_. Alice grabbed the ring, clasping it in her hand tightly and peeking around the table. No one seemed to have noticed the gift. She tucked her hands beneath the tablecloth and turned the ring around in her fingers. It _was_ an Engagement. He had given her a ring. She slipped it on her left ring finger. It fit perfectly, but of course it would. The dresses, the hats, everything he had ever given her fit perfectly, even though he had never taken a single measurement.

She pressed her unringed hand to her middle, feeling a fluttering in her stomach.

"_Delicious_ crumpets," Hatter exclaimed, chewing with delight. He looked over her shoulder. "You have them too?" Tarrant asked her casually.

"Have what?"

"Bread-and-butterflies? They're exhilarating, aren't they?"

"Is that what they're called?" Alice mused quietly.

Alice gave a slight start, when she felt Tarrant's hand join hers under the tablecloth and fumble about her lap, blindly groping. He stopped when he found her left hand. She smiled to herself as he ran his finger over the ring. There under the table, where no one could see, was the Proof she had been seeking all day. They were Engaged; it was Real.

…

Tarrant and Alice lingered behind the group, which was returning to the palace.

"I was not sure it was Real," Alice admitted, as she raised her finger and wiggled it, letting the sunshine glint off of the silver of her new ring.

"It is genuine silver," he assured her. "I would not give you something false."

Alice smiled, "No, I thought perhaps that I had dreamt your proposal. I spent the day looking for you, so that I might confirm it."

"Unless we both dreamt it, it is Real, for I remember it as well."

"Good. I never doubted the ring," she added.

He took her hand, "It is a _fede_ ring. We give them as a symbol of the tryste." [3]

"Tryste?"

"Betrothal, engagement, tryste," he explained, as he brought the ring to his lips and kissed it.

"We give rings as well. That is how I knew the Engagement was Real," Alice said, wetting her lips as she watched him withdraw her hand from his mouth. Was it very wrong to want him to kiss her lips instead?

"It's still a perplexing riddle," he mused.

"What is, Tarrant?"

"Ravens and writing desks," he clarified.

"Oh, yes. Quite," Alice agreed.

"But, I don't think I require an answer anymore."

That seemed unlikely. "Why is that?"

"You have given me the answer to the greatest riddle in the world," he informed her, as he traced the ring on her finger with his thumb. "I don't need to ask you the other in its place anymore."

It was rather mad logic, but it made Alice smile. How long had that riddle meant something else altogether, she wondered bemusedly?

"I had the Royal Jeweler engrave it for you, lass," he confessed, lisping as he nodded at the ring.

He let go of her hand so that she could read the inscription. She slid the ring from her finger and tilted it to see what was written: _I love my love with an A_. [4]

"It's perfect, Tarrant," Alice said affectionately.

"Dearest Alice," he said, smiling broadly. "It would not all fit despite the Jeweler's infinite skill. There was to be more. It should say: I love my love with an A, because she is Astounding. I hate her with an A, because she sometimes went Away. She took me to the sign of the Apron, and treated me to Apples and Afternoon Tea. Her name is Alice, and she comes from Above."

Alice turned the ring round in her hand, able to properly inspect it for the first time. The simple silver band was made of two hands clasping each other. It suited her perfectly.

"I am quite good at that game as well, you know. I love my love with an H, because he is Honorable. I hate him with an H," she said, reaching out to press her hand to his chest, "_because_ he is Honorable." As she recalled, he had left her bedchamber and stopped with the _thorough_ kissing before she would have liked last night, excusing himself in that delightfully maddening burr.

The Hatter inhaled through his teeth as her hand slipped down his chest, trailing her index finger over his waistcoat before rejoining the other hand in examination of her ring.

"He took me to the sign of the Hat, and treated me to Heavy Cream and Honey. His name is Hightopp, and he comes from Here," she said as she looked up to see a contented smile grace his features and just the barest hint of blue rimming his eyes. "Shall I try again with 'T'?"

"Not necessary," he assured her. "Perhaps another time," he amended, conceivably thinking better of turning down an offer to continue at play. His smile faded, however, as a small cloud fell across his visage. "It is still not entirely Proper, however," he said, gesturing towards her ring.

"How is it not?" Alice asked, slipping the ring back on her finger, where she wished it to stay.

"After proposing I should perform the Speerin'," he said with a frown. [5] "You're too precious to just take without a proper asking for."

Alice could make no sense of his words. His eyes were perfectly green, so she imagined the misunderstanding was due to Outlandish and not madness. "Pardon?"

"There's no Faither for me to ask," he explained, sounding apologetic, as if this was a situation that he should somehow know how to reverse.

Alice bit her bottom lip, "No, there isn't."

"No Brither, no Mither…"

Alice reached up to touch his cheek, "You have _my_ permission, which is enough, I wager."

Hatter thought for a moment, the colors in his eyes slowly shifting. "Aye, you are the Champion," he finally acknowledged. "Although, Champion or not, you look as if you are sick," he said with a mischievous twinkle.

Alice pulled herself up straight, letting her hand drop. She was not sick. She was perfectly improved. "I am not," she insisted, confused by the merriment that seemed to have seized him.

"Indeed, you are. A very queer illness, Alice, dear. You look quite tired, in fact."

"Beside it being rather Rude to comment on other people's appearances, I must object that I do not feel tired in the least," Alice lectured.

Hatter reached up to press his hand to her forehead. "Not the feverish sort of illness. Not the tired to bed sort of illness," he continued. "But tired in the face."

"Well, that is even worse!" Alice exclaimed in mortification. Tarrant's observations on her appearance were usually much more pleasing.

"It is still a very pretty sort of nose, my love, but it looks so very tired," he said, moving his hand from her forehead to stroke the bridge of her nose. He shook his head, "No, that is not right. Perhaps it is your hair."

Alice raised a hand to her hair just as he did the same.

"Lovely blonde hair should not be made to play the pianoforte, Alice," he said with a mock frown. "You have tired it out terribly."

"I have done no such thing, Hatter."

"Then perhaps the tiredness is more about your chin. Have you been walking on your chin of late?" he asked, as his hand slipped from her hair and his thumb settled on her chin as his fingers tilted her face up slightly.

The tip of his thumb brushed her lips, leaving her incapable of the vehement denial of chin-walking that she had intended on expressing.

"I believe I have found the source of your exhaustion, wee laddie," he said, shaking his head gravely. "It is your lips." His thumb pulled slightly at her bottom lip. "You must have been giving too many kisses."

Alice drew upon her muchness, so as to ask, "Is there a cure?" with her voice only wavering somewhat.

Tarrant leaned in closer, so that she could feel his breath against her lips. "You must not give any more kisses until your lips are quite rested."

She meant to say, 'Oh,' but her lips only formed the sound without making any. This cure was a great disappointment. No kisses. How drab, dull, dreary, dismal.

"So what am I to do?" Hatter asked with increasing gravity. "For, I intend on kissing you many times more." [6]

"I shall have to remain tired," Alice said, smiling against his thumb, as he drew it across her lips.

"Tired, indeed," he agreed, before making room for his lips against hers.

…

* * *

[1] _untimeous_ - unseasonably or inconveniently late (Sc)

[2] This of course, is the answer to Hatter's riddle.

[3] In the Middle Ages, the Scots began the wedding tradition of giving a silver _fede_ (or faith) ring as a pledge. They were the precursor to the Claddagh rings, which became popular in the seventeenth century. The common feature of these rings is the clasped hands; only the Claddagh clasps the heart and is sometimes topped by a crown. The hands represent trust, faith, or pledged love.

[4] I Love My Love was a popular Victorian parlor game. The description of the game from _The Girls Own Book_ by Mrs. Child is as follows: "This game may be played by any number, each taking a letter as it comes to her turn. Any mistake or hesitation incurs the penalty of a forfeit. She that begins may say: A. I love my love with an A because he is Artless. I hate him with and A, because he is Avaricious. He took me to the sign of the Anchor, and treated me to Apples and Almonds. His name is Abraham, and he comes from Alnwick."

Alice plays this game with the White King in _Through the Looking Glass_, using the letter 'H.'

[5] There was often a ritual attached to the prospective groom seeking the girl's hand. 'The Speerin' or 'The Beukin' involved the bride's father feigning displeasure, making the suitor work hard for his approval, and throwing hurdles in his way.

[6] This exchange is directly inspired by a letter written by Lewis Carroll dated October 28, 1876 from Christ Church, Oxford. The content of the letter is as follows:

"My Dearest Gertrude:

You will be sorry, and surprised, and puzzled, to hear what a queer illness I have had ever since you went. I sent for the doctor, and said, "Give me some medicine, for I'm tired." He said, "Nonsense and stuff! You don't want medicine: go to bed!"

I said, "No; it isn't the sort of tiredness that wants bed. I'm tired in the face." He looked a little grave, and said, "Oh, it's your nose that's tired: a person often talks too much when he thinks he knows a  
great deal." I said, "No, it isn't the nose. Perhaps it's the hair." Then he looked rather grave, and said, "Now I understand: you've been playing too many hairs on the pianoforte."

"No, indeed I haven't!" I said, "and it isn't exactly the hair: it's more about the nose and chin." Then he looked a good deal graver, and said, "Have you been walking much on your chin lately?" I said, "No." "Well!" he said, "it puzzles me very much.

Do you think it's in the lips?" "Of course!" I said. "That's exactly what it is!"

Then he looked very grave indeed, and said, "I think you must have been giving too many kisses." "Well," I said, "I did give one kiss to a baby child, a little friend of mine."

"Think again," he said; "are you sure it was only one?" I thought again, and said, "Perhaps it was eleven times." Then the doctor said, "You must not give her any more till your lips are quite rested  
again." "But what am I to do?" I said, "because you see, I owe her a hundred and eighty-two more." Then he looked so grave that tears ran down his cheeks, and he said, "You may send them to her in a box."

Then I remembered a little box that I once bought at Dover, and thought I would someday give it to some little girl or other. So I have packed them all in it very carefully. Tell me if they come safe or if any are lost on the way."


	19. Chapter 18

This is the first of the final three chapters. The rating will change to M in the final chapter. A complete version (rated M+) of the final chapter will be posted on my just_a_dram LJ account, where you can read it if that sort of thing appeals to you. Check out my profile for the address.

**Later that day...**

The Queen stopped Alice and Tarrant as they finally entered the palace.

"Alice, if I could borrow you for a moment, I wanted to speak with you about the trading company you've proposed."

Alice unlaced her arm from Tarrant's. "Of course, Your Majesty."

"Until later, Alice," Tarrant said, bowing as he moved the opposite direction down the hall.

"Step inside," the Queen said, waving her hands in the direction of her library. "We can discuss our plans until dinnertime. I believe Thackery has something quite delectable planned and we would not want to be late."

Alice followed Mirana into the library and moved towards the large table that was spread with books.

"These are some books with maps and charts and other information I selected from my collection, which I thought might be helpful to you," the Queen said, floating around the table and gesturing over the books in a wide arc.

"If you have any books on imports and exports that would be helpful as well."

Mirana looked for a moment as if Alice was speaking Chinese, but she recovered and responded, "I'll see what I can find," as she came to stand behind Alice's shoulder.

Alice drew one of the large map books closer to the edge where she could see it better.

"Alice!"

"Yes?" Alice inquired, surprised by the Queen's excited exclamation.

"Your hand!"

"My hand?" Alice asked, looking down at her hands, which were braced on the book. "Oh, _my hand_," Alice said, realizing that Mirana had most likely taken note of her ring.

"So, he _has_ made you an offer," the Queen said, taking Alice's hand in hers to admire the ring. "After teatime?"

"Last night," Alice said.

"Oh, I could _not_ be happier for the two of you!" the Queen said, pressing her free hand to her chest. "It has been _years_ since we have celebrated an Engagement." The Queen released Alice's hand and began to quickly move about the table, closing the massive tombs as gracefully as possible. "We won't be needing these."

"I don't believe that my getting married will mean that I cannot serve you as we intended," Alice protested. At least, she hoped not. She had not discussed such a thing with Tarrant. "Married or not there will still be buttered fingers to obtain," she added, mentioning the one item she thought Mirana might be most eager to obtain.

"Yes, of course, but we won't need them _today_," the Queen corrected her.

"Fingers?"

The Queen smiled, her white teeth flashing between her darkened lips, "These books."

"Are we not going to discuss trade?" Alice asked.

"No, we have a wedding to discuss!" Mirana announced cheerfully.

"We do?" Was the Queen as agog about weddings as her sister and mother were? She rather hoped not: she found the discussion of lace and wedding presents rather dull.

"Well," Mirana said, going to the bookcases and moving her index finger over the titles as she glided down the row of shelves, "I imagine that you know very little about Outlandish customs and might benefit from some information."

This was true enough. She had already misunderstood some of what Tarrant had said to her in regards to their Engagement, and she did not want any misunderstandings to result in his unhappiness.

"For example, a proclamation will need to be made, the Biddin' will have to take place, and you should have your carrots ready. I imagine Thackery would be happy to help you with procuring them."[1]

"Carrots?" Alice asked quietly. Were the marriage customs quite mad, she wondered?

"If I could only find the right book. Ah, here we are: _The Customs and Rituals of Outlanders_," the Queen said, drawing a brown leather book from the shelf and lowering it to the table. She smoothed her hands over the title. "This will have all the information we need."

"Are you sure you need the book? You seem to already be rather well-versed in Outlandish marriage customs."

Alice had meant it as a compliment of the Queen's knowledge of her subjects, but at her words Mirana's dark eyes grew large and she seemed momentarily flustered.

"I thought at one time that perchance I…but then…well, I," the Queen murmured, opening the book and drawing her finger down the content page to find 'Marriage.' "Here we are, 'Marriage,'" she said, changing the subject as she found the proper page number. Her nimble fingers, used no doubt to browsing through potion books, flipped through the pages dexterously. "Unless of course it is to be a handfasting?" she paused, hovering over the open page.

"Handfasting?" Alice asked. She still had not received an explanation of the other customs the Queen had listed off, but Mirana seemed distracted.

"Did the Hatter propose marriage or did he ask you to enter into a handfasting?"

"He never said anything about handfasting. I've never heard of such a thing."

"It's an Outlandish custom akin to an Engagement, but if he did not mention it, it is must be a marriage," Mirana said with a smile. "Now, where should we start…ah, yes, the proclamation. I can make that for you if you will let me."

Alice tilted her head. "I would not mind."

"Lovely. We do things rather differently here at court in terms of marriage celebrations, but it is customary to follow the groom's traditions in such cases as these, you see."

"Cases such as these?" Alice repeated back.

"A _mixed_ marriage," the Queen explained, lowering her voice. "It will not upset you, I hope, to not be married in accordance with your Above customs?" she asked, her brow briefly knitting.

Alice thought for a moment. She had never been a girl to spend hours dreaming about her wedding, so she was not particularly attached to any particular element. "No, I don't believe it shall affect me in the least."

"I'm sure Hatter could be prevailed upon to bend with tradition if it would make you happy, Alice. His happiness clearly depends on yours."

Alice smiled to herself. She knew that he would do anything to make her happy. However, she felt the same way and would be more than content to celebrate their marriage in the Outlandish style. "That won't be necessary." Alice paused. "Unless, Outlandish customs are _very strange_." As some things _were_ in Underland, and the notion that she would be in need of _carrots_ seemed to augur a fair amount of strangeness.

"No, no, I think you'll find them quite charming," Mirana assured her.

"Then I shan't have any problem with it. Besides, I don't believe many of my customs would be of much use here, since there are no churches in Underland."

"Churches? Are they central to marriage ceremonies Above?" the Queen asked, as she inspected the page before her.

"Yes, rather."

"Well, no we don't have churches, but perhaps Thackery could bake up something similar, hmm? To make you feel more at home?"

Alice began to snicker before covering her mouth and recovering herself. "Yes, perhaps he can."

A knock sounded at the door and a frog footman entered the room.

"Your Majesty," he said with a bow. "There is a supplicant waiting for you in the Throne Room."

Mirana sighed. "My apologies, Alice. It would seem that our plans must wait. We will discuss this at a later date."

Alice nodded, as the Queen drifted elegantly from the room, hands held aloft. The footman followed after, and Alice was left alone.

It occurred to her that before her lay a book with all the information she could possibly want about the Hatter's background and customs. Including this handfasting of which the Queen spoke as another form of Outlandish Engagement. Alice turned back to the contents page to find if there was a listing for 'Handfasting.' Indeed, there was. She flipped to the correct page and began to read:

_The handfast sermonie, liek an engaugement, expressens haven to interesse to maken mariage. The gests maken a circuler abouten the bride and bridegroom, while the paire leien to plegge theim to one another. The seremonie aren solemnizaten by the putting of "hands on fist". Theim hands aren tied with a tartan._

_This trial mariage lasten for a yere and a dai. Whanne the time enden, the paire wedden or separaten. During this yere, the fruitfulness of the bride, or the lakken, can be determinen. Any child conceiven aren legitimate. If one of the paire enden the contract, and not wedden, they aren chargen with the child._

_Most handfastings aren maken at Lammas Fair time. The custom aren for yonglings to chois a match for the nexte yere. Whanne Lammas Fair time comen ayen, they aren to wedden or separaten.__**[2]**_

The language was somewhat difficult to decipher, but Alice thought she understood the majority of the entry. Tarrant had most certainly said Marriage and Engagement—not handfasting—but the contents of this particular custom unarmed her, leaving her uneager to investigate any further Outlandish rituals. This seemingly casual approach towards partnership was so foreign to her that she began to wonder what it was that the Hatter expected from marriage. She closed the book and hurried from the room to seek the comfort of her quiet bedchamber.  
…

Alice heard a knock on her bedchamber door that roused her from her early evening lethargy. Raising herself from the chaise, she sighed. She had no use for visitors at the moment. The prospect of dinner was daunting enough.

She was somewhat surprised to see Tarrant standing before her, grinning broadly with his hands behind his back.

"Will you step out into the hall with me, Alice?"

"Why not step inside?" Alice asked.

"I have something to show you and I should not be alone in your bedchamber," he said, his smile faltering slightly. "Please?" he asked hopefully.

"You wouldn't be alone. I would be with you," Alice said a little crankily.

"Precisely," he said, raising his brows. "Alice, it's a very good surprise," he pleaded.

"You were with me here last night," Alice pointed out, still not stepping outside of her bedchamber.

Tarrant sighed heavily, and she watched his eyes turn somewhat yellow, possibly annoyed with her stubbornness. However, his eyes were also rimmed in blue, she noted, at the Memory no doubt of just why they should not be alone in her bedchamber.

Finally, he pulled the surprise from behind his back: a low brimmed straw boater tied with a powder blue grosgrain ribbon. "Tis a fairing," he offered.[3]

She felt herself soften somewhat. He had done nothing wrong, after all. She had merely stumbled across some information that had left her Uncertain. Better to speak with him about it than be cross with him.

"It is a _very_ good surprise," Alice said, taking the hat from him with a soft smile. "May I kiss you on the cheek?" she asked.

"Ah, well, as to that…" he stuttered, removing his own hat and turning it before him.

Alice leaned forward to give her thanks realizing that he was unlikely to grant her the permission she sought and that it was best to merely bestow her kiss. Her stomach fluttered at the brief contact. Whatever the contents of that book, he still was Her Hatter and she very much liked to kiss him, she thought, a blush beginning to spread across her chest.

"Tarrant, please come in."

He seemed undone by her kiss and despite his recent protests, entered her bedchamber. "I made several hats for you after we parted, but this was the only one that seemed appropriately pleasing. The right shade of Alice Blue," he said, gesturing towards the hat that Alice held in her hand.

"It's a lovely blue," Alice admitted, walking towards her dressing table and setting the hat down.

He sat down on the chaise. "It is _your_ blue," Tarrant said, as if this encompassed everything she needed to know about this particular shade of blue.

"I did not know that I had my own shade of blue," Alice said, joining him on the chaise.

"Oh, yes. A lovely blue, the best blue, Alice Blue. Your wedding dress perhaps might be Alice Blue," he suggested. "Married in Blue, your love will always be true."

At Tarrant's words, Alice began to dwell once more on the ritual about which she had read.

"Alice?" Tarrant whispered, lisping.

Her eyes rose to meet his.

"It need not be blue. Married in White, you have chosen right. Married in Pearl, you will live in a whirl. Married in Brown, you will live in town."[4] He attempted to coax a smile out of her. "It can be whatever color would please you, love," he assured her, his brows drawing together in concern. "And if you would rather have someone else make your dress in whatever color you would like, I would not mind, although I had assumed, which may have been presumptuous of me, because of course lasses prefer to choose who will…"

"Tarrant," she said, stopping him with a touch. "The Queen asked me whether we were engaged or whether we were entering into a handfasting."

"Why would she ask such a thing?" he asked, speaking so quickly he nearly tripped over his own words.

"She saw the ring on my hand and began to ask questions."

"It's an Engagement ring, Alice. A _fede_ ring as a symbol of our tryst. A proper Engagement, although I cannot properly perform the Speerin', which is troubling, I admit, but it is a Real and proper Engagement. Unless of course you would rather it not be, in which case if you would rather prefer a handfasting in order to determine whether I am someone you would care to be…"

Alice would have interrupted him earlier, as she could tell that he was rapidly descending into another fit of madness due to his Uncertainty, but her own had left her so out of sorts that she was slow to stop him. At last, she reached out her hand to him once more, stroking his upper arm through his jacket.

"It _is_ an Engagement then?" she inquired softly.

He blinked his now large yellow eyes at her. "Aye, Alice. A'm wantin' tae be wi' ye ayeweys. Ah knaw that. A hiv for years."

She nodded, closing her eyes with some level of relief washing over her. Tarrant loved her. He meant nothing less than forever.

"That's what I want as well," Alice agreed. She drew a cleansing breath. Her curiosity was not yet sated, however. "Was it common?"

Tarrant had placed his hand over hers and his eyes were slowly fading back to green. "Was what common, lass?"

"Handfasting. I heard it was common," Alice hedged, not wanting to admit that she had perused a book on Outlandish customs, as she had begun to feel that she should have asked him about his traditions instead of reading up on them.

His fingers tightened over hers. "Aye. 'twas common." He looked uneasy as he lowered his eyes.

"_How_ common, Tarrant?" she asked, her pulse beginning to race at the odd angle he was holding his head and the tightening of his fingers against hers, digging her fingers into his arm.

"It was before."

Alice attempted to withdraw her hand from his clutches, but he wrapped his hand around hers, securing it against himself. Her mother had always warned her that her curiosity would get the better of her someday.

"Before what?" she asked, her voice coming out low and breathy.

"Before I left for court."

Alice had not thought that he was as inexperienced as she was: quite the contrary. Without knowing his age, she was aware that there were many years between them, as well as cultural differences that had most certainly given him access to more experience than would ever be granted an English girl. But, she had not imagined that Someone had come before her. Without inquiring if this was this case, she had believed herself to be The First Fiancé. Of course, he was her First Kiss, First Love, First Fiancé, and First Everything. Apparently, she was not his First Anything.

Jealousy: Alice had never felt this petty emotion so strongly. To her mortification, she felt tears sting her eyes. _Alice Kingsleigh does not cry_. _Alice Kingsleigh, pull yourself together_, she ordered herself. Better to shout and rage than melt like a little girl. Where is your muchness now?

Her curious mind filled to the brim with questions she was uncertain she wanted answered. Damnable curiousity! "What was her name?"

"Brianag," he answered so quietly that Alice feared she had imagined his answer.

"Did you leave her?" If he left Brianag, would he one day…Alice did not want to complete that possibility.

"We left each ither," he said, pulling her hand towards his chest and pressing it over his heart. "A wantit tae gae tae court an' she wantit tae marry elsewhere. Her eye had bin catcht by anither lad."

"I'm sorry," Alice found herself saying, although she was not sure why she should be. After all, if this had not come to pass, there would be no Them here, now.

"'Twas whit ye did, Alice. Ye chose a lass that ye thought ye might fancy. It did nae wirk out wi us, as it betimes happent. Bit, twas na great tragedy."[5]

There was no point in trying to extract her hand from his, although she would have liked to sulk further away from him. Hide in the corner or at least turn so that she could hide her face from him. Running away entirely sounded quite appealing to her at the moment. Something had occurred to her from the description of the ritual that sunk her even further into her pit of self-pity.

She swallowed around a large lump that had developed in her throat. "Was there a child?"

He turned his gaze on her sharply. "Na, luve. Na."

Alice was seized by the urge to almost repeat the words, 'I'm sorry,' again, as was that not the point of getting married? Was it not a great misfortune to fail to produce heirs? This is what she had been taught, at least. But, she selfishly felt contented that there had been no child. In at least this one thing they were equal, in at least one thing there was something left for them to share.

"You lived with her for a year," Alice said softly. They had lived together, shared a bed as husband and wife, and yet, there had been no child.

"I was always careful," Tarrant mumbled.

"Careful?" Alice parroted back, not grasping his meaning.

He narrowed his eyes. "How much do you know about the marriage bed?"

Faced with his Experience and her Inexperience, Alice was seized by a childish desire to lie and profess complete knowledge of all things related to men and women, but the truth was so far from that. If they were to marry, he would surely discover this. It was Bad Practice to tell a lie, she scolded herself, especially to a loved one.

"Nothing," she confessed.

Tarrant dropped her hand and stood, striding across the room and keeping his back to her. "Then do not ask me what I mean, Alice."

Condemned to ignorance, Alice inwardly frowned. He could not bring himself to speak on it and there was no one else to do so. She once again cursed herself for not having ever thought to ask her mother or sister about such things. Although, she was uncertain they would have been any more forthcoming than he was.

"Alice, I cannot apologize for what happened in the past," he croaked.

His past is what made him Hatter, Her Hatter. A past that was as dark as it was varied. Sometimes she forgot just how dark. Sometimes she was taken in by the riddles and the rhymes and the pretty hats and bright smiles.

"Was she killed?" Alice asked.

"Aye," he acknowledged.

This woman with whom Her Hatter shared a portion of his life was dead just like all the others he had ever loved. She was jealous of a dead woman. Alice's chest tightened. Her tears began to spill noisily even though she balled her fists in her skirts in an attempt to stem them.

Tarrant turned and hurried towards her, kneeling at her feet and seizing her hands. "Alice, luve, please," he begged.

"It may not have ended in marriage, but you must have cared for her, and she is gone…if there had been a child it would also be…"

He buried his head in her lap. "Dinna think on it," he spoke into her skirts. "Generous, gentle, kind Alice," he murmured.

Alice looked down on his head with his hat knocked free and fallen to the ground. He had lost so much, it was no wonder he kept these Thoughts at bay by sinking into the madness, a horrible safe harbor amidst a sea of pain. Alice slipped her hands from his to wipe inelegantly at her nose and cheeks, trying to compose herself and remove evidence of her tears.

"I have seen many foreign relations between men and women," she began. "Men with four, dozens, and even hundreds of wives at one time."

Tarrant's head rose from her lap, his eyes grown large and round in disbelief.

"_This_ should not shock me, I know. It only…worried me about what it might mean for us."

"Us," Tarrant repeated. "There will still be an Us?" he asked nervously lisping. "You won't leave? You aren't angry?"

"I am not angry. I will not leave. There is an Us," Alice assured him. Her uncertainty would always be outpaced by his, she grasped.

"But, were you going to tell me?" she asked. Surely this was information she deserved to know.

Tarrant swallowed, "I had not thought about it or her in many moons."

"Not even when you proposed to me?" Was she not connected in some remote manner in his mind with the lass that had come before?

"No, because it is not the same. You are not the same. You are Alice. We are different," he spoke earnestly, as his hands strayed from her skirts to her waist, where he gripped her familiarly.

"Forever, Tarrant. Marriage means forever?" she asked once more to be sure, gazing down on him. "Above, marriage is meant to be forever. That is what I understood you to be asking me."

"Aye, it is the same for me, Alice."

Alice did her best to keep her wits, when she felt Hatter drawing lazy half moons with his thumbs against her side. She cleared her throat, "Are Engagements lengthy in Underland?"

Tarrant tilted his head, considering silently. He was obviously attempting to read what answer she might be seeking from him. "They need not be," he finally responded.

"Good. I'd rather ours wasn't."

She watched with pleasure as his face returned to the happiness that had been reflected there when she had first opened the door to him. He tugged lightly at her waist, drawing her to the edge of the chaise and pressing his forehead into her middle.

"Nothing could make me happier, lass," he spoke against her, his warm breath seeping through her dress's bodice.

"And I shan't be made to stay at home?" Alice asked, managing to speak a little sternly despite the pleasant sensations he was creating, as she recalled the other worry Mirana had unknowingly kindled in her breast.

He peeked up at her, his brows drawn together. "Stay at home?" he repeated.

"Where I come from, it would be improper for the wife of a gentleman to have a trade," she explained. "I don't want there to be any misunderstandings: my intention is to go forward with my plans for establishing a trading company for the Queen," she said with a little nod.

"Proper? I know nothing about that, but I hadn't thought to keep you locked in the house," he said, squeezing her about the waist.

She could not tell if he was teasing her or not. "Not locked up, Tarrant, dear..."

"No, for how could you practice your trade if you were? Hmm? I ask you!"

"Well, I couldn't possibly," Alice agreed.

"That wouldn't do at all, for all Hightopp weemen-fowk practice a trade," he said, pressing a kiss to her middle.

Alice shivered slightly at the muted sensation of his lips against the fabric of her dress. If only there was no fabric betwixt…

"All Hightopp women?" she asked, not recognizing the sound of her own voice.

"Aye, and ye will be one, ma dear."

* * *

[1] After a Scottish lass accepted a proposal, a formal proclamation was made. Then the best man or maid of honor issued the Biddin' or an invitation to the community to attend the wedding. Finally, as a gift to her betrothed, the girl would give a bundle of carrots tied with red ribbon to her fiancé, as a symbol of fruitfulness on Carrot Sunday (September 29th).

[2] This translation (with all its likely mistakes) of the handfasting tradition into Middle English has been made by the fic author. It roughly says:

The handfasting ceremony, like an engagement, expresses the intent to be married. The guests make a circle around the bride and groom, while the pair pledge themselves to each other. The ceremony is solemnized by the putting of 'hands on fist.' Their hands are tied with a tartan.

This trial marriage lasted for a year and a day. When the time ended, the pair wed or separated. During this year, the fruitfulness of the bride or the lack could be tested. Any child conceived was legitimate. If one of the pair ended the contract and did not wed, they were charged with the child.

Most handfastings were made at Lammas Fair time. The custom was for young people to choose a match for the next year. When Lammas Fair came again, they either wed or separated.

[3] Fairings or love tokens were small gifts given by the groom to the bride. In this wedding tradition, to show his affection, he gave her tokens—sweets, hair ribbons, jewelry trinkets.

[4] These adages come from a poem that dates at least from the 19th c. At the time, brides did not typically marry in white. White did not become popular until Queen Victoria's chose it for her wedding. Royalty typically were married in gold brocade, but she liked herself in white. Brides continued to marry in a variety of colors for a while, but by the end of the century white had become the norm. White, therefore, had nothing to do with purity and everything to do with fashion trends. The saying goes:

"Married in white, you will have chosen all right. Married in grey, you will go far away. Married in black, you will wish yourself back. Married in red, you'll wish yourself dead. Married in blue, you will always be true. Married in pearl, you'll live in a whirl. Married in green, ashamed to be seen. Married in yellow, ashamed of the fellow. Married in brown, you'll live out of town. Married in pink, your spirits will sink."

[5] _betimes_ – sometimes


	20. Chapter 19

**Tinlocheog Day**

"Well, I think all is prepared," Mirana announced, stepping back from Alice. "Are you pleased?" she asked, indicating Alice's reflection in the looking glass, a half looking glass, because she had been assured by all involved that a full length one was bad luck for the bride on the day of the wedding.[1]

Alice examined herself as she was not usually wont to do. She was in Alice Blue—it was what Tarrant wanted and she was more than happy to oblige him. Her hair long and loose and covered by veil so that the faeries might not be tempted to steal her away.[2] A lucky sixpence tucked in her shoe.[3] This was what she would look like on her wedding day, today, greeting Tarrant, when they would stand together and draw a circle around themselves, saying: _By Underland Free, my protection be, encircle me. You are around my life, my love, my home. Encircle me. O Underland Free, the Mighty Boundary_.[4]

A sort of pleasant satisfaction settled over her as she faced her reflection: Alice was not used to complimenting herself, but she thought she looked well enough.

"Thank you for your assistance, Your Majesty."

"It has been my pleasure," the Queen assured her, floating from Alice towards the bedchamber door. "But, I believe you have some friends who would very much like to see you this morning. Shall I let them in?"

It was unclear to Alice how Mirana knew anyone was waiting outside, since there had been no knock, but she had grown fairly accustomed to the Queen's foresight whatever its source.

"Yes, please," Alice said, frowning slightly at her reflection, worrying somewhat whether this is what Outlander brides were supposed to look like.

The Queen drew open the door and Mally and Thackery entered, nearly falling into the room, because they had been pressed eagerly to the door awaiting entrance.

"Good morning, the Alice," Mally said, scurrying across the floor and climbing atop Alice's bed. A tinkling sound accompanied the Dormouse's movements, and Alice turned to watch her in bemusement.

"We hiv brought ye gifts an' good tidings!" Thackery exclaimed as sanely as was within his abilities, hopping across the floor with a large box held between his paws.

Alice had not expected anyone to give her anything, but these gifts and good tidings would have to be added to the great number she had already received, including a lovely tea set and a multitude of finely embroidered pillows from the Queen.[5]

"Thank you," Alice said, reaching down to take the box from the Hare.

"Mine first," Mally insisted, holding out a paw that clutched something silver.

Alice obliged the Dormouse by setting Thackery's box down on the table, glad to see that Mally was not acting disgruntled this morning. Leaning down, she took the small tinkling object from Mally. It was a small bell.

"Oh!" Mirana exclaimed, "a make up bell. How charming."

"If there is a tiff, a row, a disagreement between you and the Hatter, ring the bell," Mally explained. "Then no one shall be to blame."[6]

Alice gave the bell a little shake, making it produce its tiny ring.

"Hatter can be stubborn," Mally added knowingly as she crossed her arms. "You'll have cause to use it on occasion."

Alice smiled brightly. "Thank you, dear Mally."

"CROCKERY!" Thackery shouted, giving one good tug to his left ear.

"Aw, now you went and ruined your surprise," Mally said with a shake of her head. "You might as well open Thackery's present, the Alice. He can't contain himself for long."

Alice moved back to the large box and untied the strange ribbon made up of several mismatched scraps of tartan. Pulling open the lid of the box she peered amongst the sawdust shavings to find several jugs.[7]

"Fur yer beddie!" Thackery shouted, hopping up and down excitedly.

"They're beautiful, Thackery," Alice said, pulling one from its bedding. The gift itself was very thoughtful, as Alice did not own any jugs, but their intended use seemed excessively mad.

"Crockery is a traditional Outlander wedding gift, and the gifts you receive are to be displayed on your bed for all to see," the Queen explained.[8]

Refusing to look any further into the book on Outlandish traditions had left her rather uninformed, it would seem.

"The Alice knows very little for someone about to marry an Outlander," Mally said with a hint of irritation.

"I imagine she'll have a lifetime to learn," the Queen reminded Mally kindly.

Mally shrugged. "Some of us wouldn't have to be taught, but Hatter is _stubborn_ and will have what he will."

Mirana cleared her throat most elegantly. "We should allow Alice a moment alone, I think. She may wish to prepare herself in her own manner." Mirana gestured towards the door, urging Alice's little friends to make their exit.

"Thank you again," Alice called after them.

"Now then," the Queen said, as the door softly closed behind them. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"You can assure me once more than everything has been done as Tarrant would see fit and that all our friends shall be there."

"Everything is just as he would want it," the Queen began assuredly, "but, not _everyone_ will be present today, I'm afraid."

Alice's heart dropped slightly. Who had decided not to attend?

"I don't believe anyone has spoken to you about it, but Absolem will not be with us."

Absolem, of course! She had asked after him some time ago and Hatter had answered her very vaguely about his whereabouts.

"Is he still Above?"

The Queen shook her head. "No, he is no more."

"No more? As in…dead?"

"Yes, Alice."

Alice had not thought this possible. Somehow she had imagined, since every time she came to Underland it seemed as if Time had not passed for anyone she met, that people did not age or die. Yes, sometimes people were killed, but they did not just die as they did Above, but of course they must. The Queen once had not been the White Queen of Underland. There had been another queen before her and would be after. Her heart began to race unpleasantly: there had been some comfort in the thought that Underland and the people in it were Timeless.

"He shall be again, of course. He has laid his eggs and in due course we shall have the services of Absolem once again. Not _the_ Absolem, but an Absolem much like the Other in all respects. You would hardly tell the difference," the Queen assured her.

"Oh, but I imagine I would," Alice insisted. "It will not properly be He. He is _dead_!"

Mirana reached out for her, "You are upset."

"Yes, yes, I am," Alice agreed. "Everything seems frozen in Time here," Alice said, dejectedly. "I suppose I thought that you all would always be as you are now."

"And so we mostly shall be. One grows as one will in Underland. The Tweedles prefer to be boys and so they are. The Hatter and I chose to Grow Up, but perhaps we will not choose to Grow Old. We live many years, because after some Time everyone in Underland becomes subject to its magic. That is what happened to the Hightopp clan, after all. Nevertheless, our day will come and we will fade away."

"Fade away," Alice repeated.

"Yes. The magic of Life simply becomes too weak to continue holding one together and you fade away," Mirana said, as if it was all so very simple.

Alice took a breath, trying to process all that was being told to her. "We shall all come apart at the seams and fade away?" It sounded dreadfully unpleasant.

"Yes. Fade away: a bit like Chessur, really. A turning to mist."

Alice did not want to cry on her wedding day, but the image of her friends turning to mist had unhappily become the focus of her thoughts. Her Tarrant was older than she was, conceivably considerably older. Alice would be left alone in Underland.

"A white lie may have been in order," Alice mumbled. Was today the proper day for such communications?

"I never did perfect the talent of knowing when to lie sweetly and when to be honest." Mirana pressed her hands together, "I consulted the Oraculum. It was given to me by Absolem, for his kind are always the Keeper of the Oraculum until they know that their Time is nigh. I have had it in my possession since that time, and I wanted very much for you and my Hatter to be happy. So, I looked to see if there was reason to hope, and I saw these tears on your wedding day. It was the cause of much sorrow for me, Alice, to see you crying on this happiest of days."

Alice reached up and her fingers smeared a tear, which indeed had sprouted from the corner of her eye.

"But, I know what may soothe your fears, for I have looked farther into the future. It is generally against my custom to reveal this information, but I _so_ want you to be happy today, Alice."

Alice nodded a little stiffly, giving Mirana wordless permission to break with her vow to keep the contents of the Oraculum a secret.

"You worry about losing your Hatter, but you will spend _many_ moons together. Many more than would ever be possible Above, as I understand it. Countless happy moons, Alice, and when he does fade away, you will have the comfort of the company of your charming children."

Alice's heart stopped and she gripped the bedpost, thankful that she was not wearing a corset, for if she had been, she felt certain she would have fainted.

"We are not yet even _married_, Your Majesty," Alice said, scandalized at the Queen's boldness. To speak of him and her, that they would, that it would result…

Mirana smiled broadly, "But you shall be in no short Time, my dear." She leaned forward, hands floating at her collar bone to whisper conspiratorially into Alice's ear, "And the Hightopps have always been exceedingly _prolific_."

…

Every necessary precaution to create Good luck and prevent Bad had been seen to, Hatter's friends imagining that he had already had his share enough of Bad. Alice carried a sprig of white heather, they placed lambs, toads, spiders, and black cats alongside her path to the ceremony, the Queen had coaxed a rainbow to bless the sky, and all pigs—mome rath and otherwise—were kept far away from the bridal procession.[9]

After the ceremony was complete and they had pledged to Provide and Protect, a brief celebration followed. This was punctuated by the serving of a wedding cake that to Alice's amazement was shaped and decorated to look like a cathedral. She smiled to herself. The Queen had repeatedly urged her to give Thackery instructions for the incorporation of a church into their wedding celebration. Finally, lacking the ability to properly describe the function of a church in Above weddings, Alice had drawn a sketch, which she hoped would dispel the popular Notion that a church was a baked treat. Her sketch had not been successful, Alice realized as the cake was proudly brought out by its baker, but the cake was proof yet again of the generosity and kindness of her Underland friends.

Above Alice would have been left alone with her Groom following the reception, but she had learned that this would most decidedly not to be the case in this Outlander celebration. According to Outlander custom, everyone accompanied them back to the Hat House.[10] It was a boisterous group that wended their way through the forests of Underland towards the Hatter's home, some having clearly overindulged in the bubblefrothal and whiskey that had flowed freely. Alice felt pleasantly abuzz on affection and not too much bubblefrothal, as she walked arm in arm with Her Hatter, truly Hers for good now.

As the house came into view, she took note that it was newly brightly white, looking as if it had received a cheerful transformation from rather ramshackle to cozily comfortable. She wondered whether this was the task to which some of their friends had been bent earlier in the week and referenced after in a term she could not understand.[11]

"The house looks so smart, Tarrant," Alice said.

"Our house, love," he corrected her, as they approached the front door.

Our House, Alice thought. Yes, that is what it was now. She would share it with him. She was his wife. She glanced down at the tartan rosette pinned to her gown, which Tarrant had fastened on her with a pearl hatpin following their exchange of vows. This, he had explained to her, his eyes glowing a dark green, meant that she was now a member of the Hightopp clan.[12] A clan of two; double what it had been only yesterday.

Hatter turned to the assembled group, calling out, "Come ben the hoose!" and a happy yelp went up amongst the crowd.[13]

Alice was still admiring the fresh appearance of her new home, imagining herself playing house, when she was abruptly swept up in his arms. "Oh!" she cried out in surprise.

"You're all right," he stated indulgently, as he lifted her over the threshold.[14]

Alice expected to be put down once they had crossed over, but instead, he kissed her on the tip of the nose, instructing, "Hold tight," before bending down so that her head almost touched the ground, blood rushing to her head as he did so.

It appeared to Alice that an upside down Thackery was hopping close, holding a loaf of bannock in his hands. When he reached her, he tore the bannock happily, throwing it over her head like confetti.[15]

"_TEA!_" he shouted exuberantly, as the pieces of bread rained down on her, although it was most certainly not teatime—a detail that none involved seemed troubled by at the moment.

Thackery's behavior seemed like madness to Alice, but Hatter smiled down at her expectantly, as he righted her on the ground, so she laughed gaily at the Hare's actions, momentarily unconcerned that their dear friend was gallymoggers, since her husband seemed pleased with Thackery's actions. Still lightheaded from being upended, Alice watched as Thackery began to gather the torn bannock off the ground and urge their guests to take a piece. Most people good-naturedly did so, despite the bannock having been on the ground only a moment earlier.

"Here," Tarrant said, picking a few pieces of bannock from her blonde tresses.

"Am I a mess?" Alice inquired, wondering how she could not be after all of the celebrations, turning upside down, and the rain of starches.

He squinted at her briefly. "Perfection," he decided, having finished removing the last few crumbs and dusting off his hands. "Welcome home, lass," he added, drawing her away from the doorway and into the room.

The guests crowded in around them in what appeared to be the newly straightened and newly painted workroom, and as everyone filed in an impromptu aisle developed. Alice watched as the Queen emerged in this aisle and walked through the workroom, disappearing into the Hatter's bedchamber with a glass shaker full of what seemed to be water.[16] _Their_ bedchamber, she silently corrected herself. She had slept there before, blushing at the thought that this is where Hatter slept and trying not to take note of his scent on the sheets, but now they would sleep there together. What a Thought.

She had no Notion what was taking place, as everyone awaited the Queen to reappear, but the guests were making merry and Tarrant stood beside her so proudly that her Ignorance about the proceedings did not bother her much.

"My Mither and Faither would have been so proud to have a guid-dochter such as you, Alice, Otherlander though you are," he whispered to her with a smile, bumping shoulders with her.[17]

Alice felt the bread-and-butterflies dance about her stomach. Tarrant was proud of her, proud to have her as his wife. He imagined his parents being pleased with her. He _imagined_ his parents without fear of the madness. He seemed so improved, so whole.

The Queen emerged holding a now empty shaker and laughter erupted in the room for some reason unknown to Alice. This seemed to signal an end to the festivities, because people began to jostle towards the door. Abruptly Alice felt Tarrant's arm abandon the small of her back, where it had been firmly fixed imparting warmth and comfort.

"Before ye gae, friends," he cried out, slipping slightly into his brogue. He moved towards a cabinet and dug for something, finally to pull out a bottle of whiskey that was nearly full. "A dram for iveryone!"[18]

This announcement promptly resulted in more boisterous shouts and applause of enthusiastic approval. Thackery scrambled to find enough glasses, but it seemed as if most people were not terribly put off by the prospect of sharing with their neighbor. This was apparently to be her lot as well. Hatter approached her, holding a now mostly empty bottle and a small glass. He tipped the bottle, filling the glass to the brim. He took a swig from the glass, draining two thirds with a flick of the wrist. Then he held the glass out to her, his eyes momentarily flashing a little blue as he stared at her lips. She knew from their shared drink from the Quaich at the reception that whiskey made the throat burn.[19] Armed with this knowledge, she hesitated to take it from his gloved fingers. Another glass of bubblefrothal might have been preferable.

"Might I suggest that you take it for the wedding night jitters, my dear?" someone purred over her shoulder.

Alice glanced over to see Chessur floating at eye level and grinning devilishly.

"Wickit cattie," Thackery scolded, wiping away some stray drops of whiskey hanging to his whiskers with the back of his paw. "Lea Alice alone."

Alice was touched by the Hare's championing of her.

"I only meant that she won't be alone tonight and might be in want of some liquid courage," Chessur replied innocently.

"Champion!" Thackery shouted warningly at the floating feline.

"Thank you," Alice said, as she took the glass from Tarrant's still extended hand, her bare fingers brushing his gloved ones.

Chessur was being a cheeky Cat, but he was regrettably right. The whiskey certainly could not hurt. The Queen's words drifted back to her: _The Hightopps have always been exceedingly prolific_. Yes, whiskey might be _just the thing_.

Before she tipped back the stinging amber liquid, she looked into her husband's eyes, which were blissfully green—not the color she had been expecting to see spreading in his irises. Apparently, he was oblivious to Chessur's teasing words, occupied as he was with the well wishes of the guests who were draining their drams and saying their goodbyes. That was well enough. If Chessur did make Tarrant unhappy with his teasing, she might have to dunk the Cat in a bucket of water. She had no wish for their happy day to be marred by madness of any kind.

"Cheers," she said, bending slightly to click glasses with the Hare, who stood, looking cross-eyed up at her.

Straightening back up, she lifted the glass to her lips. It smelled as strong as she imagined it would taste. She drank it back with less proficiency than she had observed in her husband, but she managed nonetheless.

"You're not as stupid as you look," Chessur drawled approvingly, as she finished off the glass, swiping her tongue across her lips to chase the last drops of liquid.

…

* * *

[1] When the bride was ready to leave the house for her wedding ceremony, a last look in the mirror would bring her good luck. If she viewed her whole body, however, she would have bad luck.

[2] Wearing your hair down, as opposed to wearing white, was a symbol of purity in a bride. Brides originally wore veils to confuse faeries who might otherwise steal them away due to their wedding finery.

[3] Brides carried a lucky sixpence in their shoe so they would be well off financially in their marriage.

[4] To begin a Celtic wedding ceremony, the bride and groom perform a ritual called the _Caim_, where they would draw a circle around themselves, symbolizing their unity with God. As they drew the circle, they repeated these words: The Mighty Three, my protection be, encircle me. You are around my life, my love, my home. Encircle me. O sacred three, the Mighty Thee.

[5] The Maid of Honor organized and oversaw the sewing of pillows and bolsters and the making of household items for the bridal couple's home. As a wedding tradition, she often gave a tea set as her gift to the bride.

[6] A traditional wedding gift was a decorative bell, which was placed in a central spot in the home. Whenever an _argie-bargie_ (argument) was unresolved, if the _hain _or _wifie _(husband or wife) rang the bell, it signaled an end to the quarrel, with neither being held to blame.

[7] An older wedding tradition was for the neighbors to give gifts of crockery to the bride. The number of jugs she received determined her status. So they were put on display before the wedding, for all to see and count.

[8] As a wedding tradition, good friends and family expected to be invited in for a showing. Any gifts received by the bride were laid out on her bed.

[9] Good luck omens, when seen on the way to the ceremony, included lambs, toads, spiders, black cats, sunshine and rainbows. Scottish brides carried a sprig of white heather, for good luck. As part of the wedding day customs, if a pig or a funeral were encountered, this was bad luck. The procession turned around, returned home, and started over again.

Pigs appear twice in Carroll's Wonderland. In _Alice in_ _Wonderland_ the Duchess' baby transforms into a pig when Alice spirits it away from its volatile mother. In the "Jabberwocky" poem from _Through the Looking Glass_ 'mome raths' are introduced. Raths are green pigs and 'mome' is short for 'from home', meaning the raths are lost.

[10] The entire entourage escorted the young couple to their new home. Not only did they walk the wedding couple home, they expected to be invited in.

[11] The Best Man had to organize the cleaning and whitewashing of the groom's house, called _Sgeadasachadh_.

[12] If the bride were marrying into the groom's clan, a member of the groom's family would present the bride with a rosette or a sash fashioned from their clan's tartan. It would be fastened with the clan badge to the bride's dress symbolically accepting her into the groom's clan. Many times the groom himself would pin the rosette or sash on.

[13] Upon arriving at the home, the festivities continued. Everyone was invited in with the greeting, 'come ben the hoose.'

[14] After the walk home, the bride had to enter the new home, or _haudin_, through the main entrance. It was considered bad luck for the bride to trip, or fall, while entering her new home. It was also unlucky for the bride to step into her new home with her left foot first. So to avoid bad luck, the groom simply picked her up and carried her over the threshold.

[15] Barley and oat flour biscuits were broken over the bride's head, while she was in the doorway of her new home. A piece of the bannock was passed for each guest to eat.

[16] Another custom is from the island of Barra, in the Outer Hebrides. One of their wedding traditions is to sprinkle water on the marriage bed, with an accompanying blessing.

[17] _guid-dochter_ – daughter-in-law (Sc)

[18] _dram_ — a small unit of volume, referring to a drink of Scotch whiskey

[19] The Quaich is a two-handled loving cup for the wedding feast. The couple used the Quaich at the reception for their first toast together.


	21. Chapter 20

Chapter rating: M

This is part one of a two part chapter. The second half of the chapter contains explicit sexual content, and according to FF rules, cannot be posted here. Instead, I have posted it on my livejournal, which you can access via my profile or through the link provided at the conclusion of part one. Should M+ content not be your cup of tea, part one is intended to also serve as an ending to the chapter with the storyline picking up again in the epilogue.

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**After their guests have left…**

He had not thought he wanted their guests gone, as he had enjoyed the day most thoroughly, but as soon as the last few trickled through the door and could be heard no longer about the garden, Tarrant felt a rush of relief. To be alone with Alice in their house, it was a pleasure he had sometimes dreamt of but never actually experienced until this moment.

"Alone," he said, tugging off his gloves and setting aside his hat so that he could bury his face in her curly blonde locks. His hands eagerly wrapped around her waist. There was no corset cinching Alice's waist in beneath his grip, but she was still small in the pleasant way of females.

Alice chuckled under her breath, "Not entirely alone, Tarrant. There _is_ me."

"I am rather fond of Me," he confessed, moving to speak into her neck. "I now count Me as being one with I, you know."

"I see," Alice said distractedly, as he applied a kiss below her ear. "So, we two shall never really be alone."

He hummed in agreement against her neck. It was so soft and smelled so of Alice. He was tempted to run his tongue down the length of skin currently exposed to him or to remove some of these clothes and access _unexposed_ skin. "Clothes," he murmured, knitting his brows in slight frustration.

"Yes, your wedding clothes are quite handsome," Alice said.

He swallowed, pulling back from her neck. Alice wanted to talk, naughty man, he scolded himself, and he was thinking of pawing at her like the Bandersnatch. He belatedly let his hands fall from her waist and hang limp at his side—if he continued to hold her just so, he would not accomplish much in the way of speech.

"It is only my traditional dress, lass."

Alice laced her fingers with his. "I like it very much."

"You wear the tartan too now," he said, nodding towards the rosette he had pinned on her. The colors of his tartan—mulberry, brown, and blue, not Alice Blue, but cherished nonetheless—looked so right upon her breast, as if they were always meant to adorn her. "Ah think ye were born tae be a Hightopp," he confessed.

Alice's eyes smiled. "Made for each other, perhaps," she said, squeezing his fingers.

Beautiful, brainy, bold, bossy, brave, blonde Alice was His, and he had managed to make it through the day without once having to ask whether this was Real or Dream, whether he was truly being wed to the Loveliest of All Alices. There was no need, for this feeling was born of a happiness that could not be fabricated in any dreamscape.

"But, some of the ladies may have been jealous, my dear," Alice, said, smoothing her hands over the shoulders of his mulberry colored silk dress coat.

"Of you?" he asked, leaning in to nudge her nose with his own. "You do look lovely, Alice. Did I tell you that?"

"Mmm, several times, I think. But, I meant jealous _of you_," she explained, trailing her fingers down his arms to the lace cuffs of the white wing-collared shirt that peeked out of his coat sleeves. "I have never seen you look so well," Alice mused with an inquisitive tilt of the head.

Love was a wonderful curative, even better perhaps than the washing of hands and clothes and proper ventilation.

"It is the diced hose," he teased.

Alice stepped back, still gripping his fingers in hers, making an arch between them that would be most suitable for a game of London Bridge.[1]

She bit her lower lip as she contemplated his mulberry and black hose. "No. They are quite nice, but I think it stems from another cause," she decided with an authoritative nod.

"Hmm," Tarrant pondered. "I have worn my hair in a ribbon," he offered as an alternative explanation.

Alice released his hands and motioned for him to turn with a whirl of her index finger. Obeying her command, he spun on his heel, putting his back to her.

Alice tugged lightly on his black beribboned queue, announcing, "Not this either."

"Now, now!" he said in mock protest. "This is a very serious military style manner of dress, my dear. Not to be trifled with."

"Very serious, hmm? You have been at revel now for…" Alice began as he turned back around to face her.

He sucked in his breath as Alice brushed aside his coat and slid her hand into his blue waistcoat. Her fingers in his waistcoat made his mind drift back once more to thoughts of ridding Alice or himself or both of them of some of these restrictive layers.

Finding his pocket watch, she pulled it out in triumph. "Ah," she said, her victory turning to feigned disappointment with a pretty frown. "I was going to give you the exact amount of hours you have spent in merriment, but I see that you have not buttered the works." She turned the face so that he could see the stopped hands.

He took her wrist in hand and pressed a kiss to her pulse, "I did not think I would need to keep track of Time today, love." Her pulse thrummed pleasantly beneath his lips. Other points where he might taste Alice's pulse—the neck, the inside of elbows, the ankles, and the back of knees—flitted across his vision, and he wondered briefly if he should have perhaps been a Perfumer. There was no hope for it: he was certain that his eyes had switched from the happy green of the day to blue.

Alice smiled—with her eyes and her lips. "Was it your intention to lose track of Time altogether?" she asked sweetly.

Sweet Alice with no idea of what he would like to do with her. "Alice, Alice, Alice," he said, letting her wrist slip and moving to lift her. She squeaked in shock, griping about his neck as he scooped her up. He strode towards his—their—bedroom door, turning to the side to fit through with his Alice Blue bundle. "You have read my mind. Let us begin to work at forgetting him."

"Work?" Alice laughed, as he set her on the bed. "What kind of work? Making hats?" she asked, as he rested one knee on the bed and leaned over her.

"I had rather different modes of passing the Time in mind."

That was rhyme, he realized, but he could not be bothered to share the observation with Alice, for he was quite occupied. One hand steadied him against the shifting mattress tick; one hand behind Alice's neck steadied him against her lips. Kissing Alice on their bed—this was one for the Alice box in his mind, which was getting so pleasantly crowded. She tasted of whiskey, he thought with a smile. Alice made a faint sound as she sunk further back into the mattress, taking him with her until the leg still grounding him to the floor lost its purchase.

"I like the way you think, _Hatter_," she murmured.

He chuckled in appreciation.

Starting at the point behind her ear that made Alice shift slightly beneath him, he planted slow kisses along her jaw line until he reached her pulse, which was now noticeably quicker than it had been when he had pressed his lips to her wrist. Alice's hands came to his neck and threaded themselves in his hair. Those deft little hands had him in mind of wrists and arms and elbows, but he finished his trek around the rest of her jaw. As his lips broke contact with her skin, her fingers twined a little tightly in his hair, a little needily perhaps. The idea of Alice needing him—_needing him!_—caused him to harden against her.

Beautiful Alice, melting beneath him, he wanted to drink in the sight of her, but when he looked, he observed that she was holding her breath. "Remember to breathe, love," he urged her, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. He would not want Alice to stop breathing altogether. He liked her much too much as Alive Alice to ponder anything contrariwise.

He felt a deep intake of breath that assured him that she had heard him and she turned her head to return his kiss more squarely.

"I forgot," she murmured against his lips with a half-smile.

He rolled to the side so as to explore her better, as he had wanted to do for some time now. It was finally permissible. Alice was His.

"Alice wrist," he said, circling her right wrist with his fingers and drawing it to his mouth. "Alice arm," he continued, as he traveled towards the indention of her elbow. "Alice elbow," he mouthed against the satisfying warmth.

"Lessons in body parts, Tarrant?" Alice mused. "In French next time?"

"Outlandish," he offered.

"Yes, please," she breathed, as he let loose of her arm and abruptly hitched her farther up the bed, so that he could access her legs.

_Please_: Alice had just asked _so nicely_ for a lesson in forms. "Let's review," he said, as he began to work removing her slippers. "Shackle-bane, airm, and elbae," he pronounced clearly, having unlaced the long ribbons of one slipper and then the other.[2] He uncovered two stocking feet and took the arch of one in his hand, pausing to contemplate both the perfection of form and unexpected covering. "Stockings," he murmured.

Alice propped herself up on the bed presumably so as to see what he was staring at. "I wear them sometimes," she said a little softly.

"Black and white stripped stockings," he said, running his hand back from her heel to her ankle.[3] Alice's ankles were delicious both in and out of stockings, but at the moment these stockings seemed the greatest temptation in the world. He would not mind testing their strength with his teeth.

"Diced hose," she countered back with an arched brow.

He chuckled throatily. "Anklet," he continued his lesson in Outlandish, pressing his thumb into the indentation below her ankle bone. He slid his hand along the underside of her shapely calf, lingering for a moment at its greatest width before approaching the inside of her stocking covered knee. "Back o' th' knee, diddle dumplin'," he said, as his other hand pushed her skirts up past her knees so he could see what it was he was doing.[4]

He vaguely heard Alice's breath catch in her chest. For all he knew he was breathing loudly as well; he could not concentrate on anything other than Alice's bared knees. He had never dared given thought to what it would be like to lift Alice's skirts, but now he had boldly done it without a moment's pause. Grasping the back of her knee, he bent her one leg and then repeated the action with its twin.

All he would have to do is place himself between those knees now.

His hand left the valley of her knee to swirl around her stocking encased kneecap. "Knee-lid," he said, bending down to bestow a kiss upon her knee.

Place himself between those knickered thighs.

"Thee," he said aloud without meaning to, as he ran his hand over the inside of one her thighs.[5] He felt her shiver under his touch. "Alice, luvie, ye alright?"

"You will…shall have to tell me what to do," she said, her voice shaking.

He allowed himself a frown, since he could see that Alice's eyes were shut tight. Shamefacedly, he could understand why men Above might want their brides to be virgins, given as he was to murderously possessive thoughts about Alice that made him want to slice in half any man who would even _think_ such things about His Alice. There was another disturbingly possessive Hatter that preened at the thought that he would be Alice's first and only and could appreciate her coming to his bed as such. But, he could _not _understand why they kept their lasses so helplessly, powerlessly, weakly, vulnerably ignorant. For even through his haze of arousal, he could see that Alice was as Anxious as she was Aroused, and Anxious did not make the long list of things he wanted to make her feel. Maids were skittish enough without being entirely devoid of information about the marriage bed. And no Mither to tell her the _ins and outs_, as it were.

Tarrant pulled her upright in a tangle until she sat atop his one knee. "I'm sorry," she said against his chest.

"Shh," he shushed her kindly. "There's nothing to be sorry for. It's the most natural thing in the world, laddie," he said, hoping she would understand. "I said I would take care of you and I will."

Alice fingered his waistcoat with questing fingers. "I want to…I just don't want to disappoint."

Tarrant could not help it, he groaned. Alice _wanted_. "Nae possible," he said firmly, taking her hand and guiding it to the buttons of his waistcoat.

Alice began to work at freeing him of his waistcoat, as he shrugged his coat off. Freed of the constricting item, he grabbed her still exposed thigh and moved his hand over her knickers, skating over her hip and finding where her chemise met her drawers. Wiggling the two items apart with insistent fingers, he was granted access to some of the Alice skin he had been thinking of in the next room. Alice truly had come back to Underland rounded in all the Right Places. Her skin was smooth beneath his touch; he imagined it was pale ivory as well.

Alice had completed her task and slid the waistcoat over his shoulders. Occupied as his one questing hand was, however, the waistcoat hung trapped about his one wrist. "Botheration," he groused, reluctantly removing his hand from her waist and shaking the waistcoat off.

Congratulating himself on his forethought, he divested himself of his sgian dubh, pulling it from his hose and chucking the stag antler handled knife onto the bedside table, where it could not accidentally impale him or her, which would be _most_ inconvenient.[6] It landed with a clatter, which Alice weathered without as much as a flinch. He hoped very much that this meant he had calmed her somewhat with his inarticulate speechifying.

His hands worked preternaturally quickly to undo his flashes and to unlace his boots, as he suddenly felt that he needed quite desperately to be free of his clothes.[7] Alice stopped him, stilling his hand with her own, when he reached for the chain of his sporran.[8] "May I?" she asked quietly.

Did the lass think he would say, 'No'?

Her arms encircled him as she found the clasp. Sweeping her curly blonde locks to the side, he similarly reached around her to feel for the pearl buttons he had sewn down the back of her sleeveless Alice Blue gown. Would laces have not been more expedient, he wondered, as he worked blindly at the buttons? In his haste, he knew he was beginning to tear at them, desperate for His Alice NOW. He managed the last defiant button just as he heard his sporran hit the floor with a thud, and he pulled the dress forward and off her shoulders. The beautiful dress was now messily bunched about her thighs and waist: negligent treatment of a fine garment, but a casualty of a worthy cause.

"_You're fine, wife,_" he assured her, carefully measuring his tone and accent as he took her by the shoulders and kissed her lightly.

"Say that again, please?" she spoke, her hands stealing from her lap to gain fistfuls of his shirt.

Alice was dreadfully polite even in the heat of the moment. But then, she had tried to teach him from the beginning of their acquaintance not to be Rude. Perhaps marriage bed requests should all be prefaced by a prettily said 'please.'

"What's that, love?"

"Wife," she said, hesitating as she tugged at his shirt.

His heart hammered unevenly in his chest. "Ye'r ma wife, Alice." He immediately regretted the slip of tongue. "I'm not mad. Well, yes, generally I am, which is why they call me the Mad Hatter, but I am in control this evening, meaning rather that I will not lose control with you, so you need not worry. For this is something I would rather remember than not, but it is just that when I am particularly…"

"Tarrant, I know, and I don't mind the accent. It doesn't frighten me," she said. "I rather like it, husband," she finished with a saucy smile, as his shirt came free of his kilt.

Oh! Alice loved all parts of him. Even the Outlandish part he had unsuccessfully tried to bury along with his family.

He pulled her fully against his chest and ran his hands down the length of her back, memorizing the feel of her in his arms. His Alice, His Forever. He could not wait through the interminable unbuttoning of more clothes, and she and he still had much too much clothes in the way.

"Tak' aff yer dress," he commanded, letting loose of her to yank his bow tie free and quickly undo the buttons at his neck in order to haul the shirt over his head in one swift motion. Tossing the shirt aside, he stood and pulled his hose from his legs.

Having heeded his directions, Alice was standing before him in her knickers and chemise, her dress pooled at her stocking feet, her cheeks, lips, and bosom awash in the blush of arousal.

"Lay back, lass," he said, taking her by the waist and guiding her back onto the bed.

"Are we going to…?" Alice asked, her fingers trailing in his ginger chest hair.

"Aye."

…

End of part 1. Part 2 (rated M+ for explicit sexual content) posted at my livejournal page, which can be accessed via my profile or by removing the spaces in this link: http : / / just-a-dram . livejournal . com / 9068 . html )

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[1] "London Bridge Is Falling Down" is a rhyme that appears in the earliest print version of _Tommy Thumb's Pretty Song Book_ (c. 1744):

"London Bridge

Is Broken down,

Dance over my Lady Lee.

London Bridge

Is Broken down

With a gay Lady."

It is also is a popular children's game dating at least as early as the nineteenth century, where two players make an arch while the others pass through in single file. The arch is then lowered at the song's end to "catch" a player.

[2] _shackle-bane_ – wrist (Sc)

[3] John Tenniel depicted a contemporary fashion trend of fancifully stripped stockings by portraying Alice in black and white stripped stockings in his illustrations for _Through the Looking Glass_.

[4] "Diddle dumplin'" comes from the nursery rhyme, "Hey diddle dumpling, my son John," which would be recited by nurses as they undressed their charges for bedtime. Stockings are used in the second verse instead of trousers. The rhyme was first printed in _The Newest Christmas Box_ published in London around 1797.

"Diddle, diddle dumpling, my son John  
Went to his bed with his trousers on;  
One shoe off, and the other shoe on,  
Diddle, diddle dumpling, my son John."

[5] _thee_ – thigh (Sc)

[6] _sgian dubh_ – the Scotmans' dirk. This comes from the Gaelic "black knife" and is worn in the right sock.

[7] Flashes are the garters that hold up the kilt hose and are worn below the turn down of the sock. They have a piece of cloth sewn on them that protrudes, which can be of the same tartan as the kilt or complementary.

[8] _sporran _– purse. There are several types of sporran, dress, semi-dress and day/leather sporran. They are made from an animal skin front, which have ornamental tassels hanging from it. They have a metal top (cantle) designed to tie in with the belt. The sporran is hung around the natural waist by means of a metal chain and leather straps with the chain passing through the belt loops at the back of the kilt.


	22. Epilogue

Staring up at the ceiling, Alice's hand gropingly found Tarrant's in the sheets between then. "Was that all right?" she asked a little breathlessly, as she squeezed his fingers.

He rolled on the pillow and fixed her with a serious look, "You need ask?"

Alice could not help but smile just slightly. "I mean to ask…was I…acceptable?"

"Acceptable," Tarrant repeated flatly.

"Terrible?" Alice inquired quietly.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her towards him. Leaning over her he whispered, "I will not have you speak poorly about my Alice."

"Well, I did not _know_…anything," she explained.

"Now you do," he said, grinning briefly before bestowing a kiss upon the tip of her nose.

"Yes," Alice agreed, feeling a laugh in her belly that wanted to spill forth in uncontained happiness. "I was given very poor advice, you know."

"What was that?" he asked, gently tracing her features with his index finger.

"Suffer and be still," Alice admitted, finally dissolving into laughter.

His eyes grew round.

She bit her lower lip, smiling. "I believe I failed in that."

"Sounds like right rotten advice, Alice."

"Indeed," she conceded. "I can't imagine Mrs. Ellis was all that fond of her husband," she said, reaching up to touch the sparse ginger hair on his chest. "Not as I am of mine."

"Quite fond of the fellow?" he asked, brushing her hair away from her face onto the pillow.

"Dreadfully," Alice responded solemnly.

"Lucky chap," he mused. His hand stilled, "Your husband loves you more than anything, you know, Alice."

She pressed her hand to his heart. "I like the sound of that so much."

"Alice? I am excessively attached to _Alice _too."

Alice beamed, "No, not my own name. _Husband_. Or rather, You as My Husband."

"When you use a word, it is best to have it mean just what you choose it to mean—nothing less, nothing more," he agreed.[1]

"I didn't want just _any husband_," she explained, running her hand along his collarbone. "I'm very particular."

The feel of his fingers shifting through her hair was giving her the chills. The memory of his hands… "Can we try again?" she asked, her voice sounding thick.

"If you find your task is hard,  
Time will bring you your reward,  
Try, try again."[2]

He paused, as his fingers left her hair and lightly caressed the crook of her neck. "Try what exactly?" he inquired.

Sliding her hand down his chest to rest on his hip, she swallowed, saying tentatively, "You and I, like this, again?"

Tarrant tucked his chin, chuffing. "I'm an old man, Alice," he finally said, looking back up at her. "You'll be the death of me."

"Hardly," she said, wrinkling her nose. "I intend on keeping you in the best of shape."

Her words made her blush, and he arched a brow at her in response. Was it very wicked to want him again so soon? Was it wanton to want to be with him, divested of the rest of her underclothes and in more light? She trailed her fingers over his chest, contemplating boldly asking him to remove her chemise and knickers; or doing the unrigging herself.[3]

"You'll be sore," he said, licking his lips with a small frown.

Alice nodded: she was slightly, but she had feared it would be worse.

Her hand slipped from his hip and settled on her middle. "Mirana told me something this morning."

Tarrant blinked, seemingly confused by the change in subject.

"She said…we would have a large family. She said the Hightopps…always did."

His eyes, already a brilliant green, became a dark emerald. He raised a trembling hand to her cheek. "We can have whatever you like, Alice." His lips met hers for the gentlest of kisses, a promise of things to come, a promise of a life before them. "The world is our oyster," he murmured against her lips.

Alice frowned, "Anything but an oyster, Tarrant. I always felt quite sorry for those poor oysters."[4]

He nipped her lower lip and slipped his hand beneath the hem of her chemise. "Oysters are an aphrodisiac," he teased, as he inched the chemise up her torso.

"I don't believe we shall ever lack for…I don't think we shall have need of…" Alice sighed, unable to compose her thoughts due to the distraction of the sensation of his hand against her flesh.

"No, I don't believe we shall."

THE END

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[1] Alice engages in a similar discussion about semantics with Humpty Dumpty in _Through the Looking Glass_.

[2] The short poem _Try_ (_try_) _again_ was often quoted in nineteenth-century children's literature. It is popularly attributed to W. E. Hickson, who quoted it in his _Moral Songs_ (1857), but T. H. Palmer's use is earlier. Tarrant quotes from the fifth verse.

[3] _unrigged_ – undressed (Victorian slang)

[4] "The Walrus and the Carpenter" poem appears in _Through the Looking Glass_, and the pair trick and then eat all the poor little oysters. Alice found them "_both_ to be very unpleasant characters."


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